


Do I wanna know?

by greeneyed



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: A LOT of misunderstanding and miscommuncation, And then so more, Angst, CMBYN - Freeform, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, More angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-08-26 05:29:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 43,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16675426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greeneyed/pseuds/greeneyed
Summary: Armie and Timothée have become good friends right away due to their shared sense of humor, preference for low-budget films, love for the word ‘fuck’ and, of course, ‘the random luck of the universe’. But the latter might have played a sick joke on them…





	1. Last year I fell flat on my face

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first RPF and I’m sooo nervous. 
> 
> I respect and admire the hell out of every real person involved in this. This is pure fiction. Never happened. It’s all an invention of my sick imagination.
> 
> The title is a song by Arctic Monkeys, beautifully covered by Dua Lipa for BBC Radio 1.

LA, November, 2017. The Ellen Show.

 

*Armie*

 

I tell the story for what feels like the billionth time. Still everybody laughs. Timmy laughs. Ellen laughs. I plaster a smile on my face. 

 

God, I’m so tired.

 

Not of the story, no. I’ll keep telling it over and over again as long as there are volunteers to listen. I’m just… tired. Period. It’s been hell of a year and I’m surprised I’m still able to sit upright and articulate. But there’s not a prospect of a proper rest in the foreseeable future so I need to get my shit together and…

 

I realize I’ve zoned out when Ellen asks Timmy about ‘razor burn’ and before I know it his fingers are against my cheek, stroking it lightly. I feel my face flush instantly and I know there are millions people to see but… All I want to do is to lean into his palm and stay like this for the rest of my life. His hand is warm and smooth and gone far too soon. I lift my own hand to that same spot, trying to savor his touch, but the moment is gone too. 

  
  


Crema, May, 2016. 

 

“No, not these, the green ones!” Luca sounds annoyed but I know better. It’s one week into filming and I’ve learned to read his moods by now so I take my time changing into green shorts still not used to the length and lack of room for my… never mind. 

 

It’s hot outside, to say the least. And I know the fabric is gonna stick to my sweaty legs in no time so we better do it fast. We’re filming the volleyball scene, and though there’s not a lot of action, I have a feeling ‘fast’ is not gonna happen. “It’s all about the expressions, the atmosphere,” Luca says before basically every scene. “Give me the right one, and we’re done.” ‘The right one’ is never within 5 takes, usually in over 10. These shorts are going to be the death of me.

 

It’s cooler inside so I wander around waiting to be called for. I can hear an irritated Italian rattle from one of the rooms, and when I peek in at the door, there’s a make-up lady desperately trying to make Timothée’s curls stay in place. “Agh, merda!” She literally howls and Timothée looks so apologetic as if it’s all really his fault. She uses more hair gel and then hair spray and then something else and he’s just standing there completely motionless. I’m genuinely worried if he’s even breathing at all. 

“Okay, I think that’s it.” She steps back taking a look at him, but he is still, not sure if he’s allowed to move. She waves her hand agitatedly and he takes it as a go-ahead and shrugs off his shirt… 

 

It’s surely not the first time I look at a naked man. But it’s definitely the first time I can’t stop looking at a naked man. It’s weird cause I know this man. I’ve kissed this man. Made out with him even. Fo good ten minutes. Still it feels like the first time I see him, actually  _ see him _ . And I can’t look away. The skin of his bare chest… His entire posture... Everything about him...I’ve never been very poetic so I don’t know what to compare it to. There’s just one word on my mind.  _ Perfect.  _ He is  _ perfect _ . Not only can’t I stop looking, now there’s a vital urge to touch him. I don’t know how I feel about it. I don’t know what  _ it _ even means. All I know is I want to know what his skin would feel like beneath my fingers right now.

 

It takes me a moment to realize that I’m staring. It takes me a fraction of a second longer to realize that he  _ knows  _ I’m staring. I look away immediately but it’s too late, I’ve been caught red-handed, color blooming from the tips of my ears to the base of my neck.  _ Shit, what is wrong with you? Have you never seen a naked guy? Huh? _

 

‘ _ He’s not even naked…’  _ says the voice in the back of my head, ‘ _ yet.’  _

 

I am so fucked.

  
  


LA, November, 2017. The Ellen Show.

 

We’re backstage, Ellen joining us during the commercial break. Her and I are engaged in a small talk, Tim is on his phone, rattling something in French (as he always does when talking to his sister). 

 

“Pauline says hi”, he announces, suddenly very close to me. Probably, too close. Always invading my private space with such ease that I can’t tell if he knows what it does to me. It was awkward at first as I was not used to such casualness. Once I fathomed just how attracted to him I was, his little ministrations (like nudging my shoulder every time he passed by or brushing his fingers against mine when I lit a cigarette for him on the porch of the villa in between scenes or pushing his body impossibly close to mine during countless movie nights first in Crema, then in featureless hotel rooms all around the world) became my own version of hell. It always catches me off-guard and throws me off-balance. The worst part is, it always comes with a smile on his end. An innocent, genuine smile, the kind that I love to get from my children… But when he smiles at me like that… It just reminds me how screwed I am. 

 

“So, I guess I’ll see you around, Armie.” Ellen gives me a brief hug. “And it was nice meeting you, Timothée. Good luck on the award season and I’m expecting you to join Armie on the Sexiest Man Alive list next year,” she pats his shoulder. 

 

“Yeah, right,” he unfolds his arms, scratching his legs as he always does when he’s nervous.  _ God, why do I know how he acts in any given situation? _ “Maybe you’ll even beat him,” she winks at him. Timothée grabs my biceps. “If the list was fair”, he squeezes it lightly, “Armie would have to add shooting for that magazine’s cover to his yearly to-do list.” And then a smile. Of course, that fucking smile. As if he’s asking ‘ _ Am I being a good boy? Do you like me like that?’  _

 

Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Or maybe it’s mere inability to bear the tension that’s been building up inside me for so long, but for the first time in eighteen months I retreat. Like literally shrug his hand off me and take a step aside. I know he notices (how could he not?) and I know that another smile that’s instantly there, a mock-apologetic one, is just a cover-up for his inner battle (‘ _ Why is he like that? What have I done wrong? _ ’). I even know that he’s about to delve into self-questioning and probably self-loathing (things he’s even better at than at acting) once we’re behind that door but there’s not much I can do about it. I mean, what am I supposed to say? ‘ _ Sorry, Tim, it’s not you. It’s just… every time you touch me I wish you’d never stop. _ ’ Nononononono. I need some kind of a safety net to protect the beautiful friendship we’ve built and to keep myself from losing my mind over the next three months. 

 

“So, the dinner tonight. Our place, the usual gang.” We’re outside the studio, a car is waiting for him and Harper is barely awake in my arms. He looks up, startled by the sudden breaking of silence. An alien awkwardness kept us both tongue-tied on our way out. It’s a breezy night, the wind is rustling Harper’s hair so i pull her closer to me, trying to keep her warm. Timmy lifts his hand and brushes a stray curl from her forehead, hesitance written all over his face.

 

“Actually, I’m pretty beat.” He shivers and puts his hands into front pockets, still not making eye-contact. “So, I’m gonna pass. Have a good night.” 

 

I don’t get a chance to object as he turns on his heels and marches away with his head down, leaving me to my own thoughts. Which all come down to one. ‘ _ What have I done?’ _

 


	2. we can only do our best to recreate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boys go back to Crema, but it's different this time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first, I'd like to thank all of you for your incredible feedback! I wasn't sure if I should post it at all, now I know I chose right.
> 
> On a side note, I'm re-reading chapters I finished a while ago and sometimes their mood swings surprise even me.
> 
> The title is from a song 'Fake It' by Bastille.

Crema, January, 2018.

 

*****Armie*****

  
  


“Holy shit!” 

 

I look up from my phone, my glance straying from Tim’s gaping mouth to the window. 

 

“Holy shit!” It’s my turn to gasp.

 

The Piazza is heaving with people. There are so many, the car barely crawls through the crowd. We exchange the look, the comprehension hits us simultaneously - all those people, they’re here… for us. 

 

I knew the film was very well received in Italy, to say the least. But staring out the window, I think we might have underestimated just how appreciative Italians really are. I know for a fact, though, how emotional they get so I make a mental note to warn Timmy, just in case. It’s all new to him and I want him to experience the whole thing to the fullest extent, but simply to avoid any weird episodes I’d like to look after him. Acting in good faith, no hidden catch. Just a very brotherly thing to do, I convince myself. 

 

The car stops completely and before I know it, Timothée is getting out of it. 

 

“Hey, what are you…?” 

 

My question just hangs in the air. Unfinished. Unanswered. 

 

He is immediately enveloped by the crowd and I feel like I’m about to have a panic attack. There are dozens of people between us in no time at all and I can’t reach him. I can’t protect him. I can’t do anything but watch. Simply watch the person I want all to myself, the person I have no right to want, dissolving in all the love that he deserves. I want to call him, I want to be a part of his bliss. But I don’t. This is his moment, I would be nothing more than intruder, though he would never let me think that. 

 

It’s so weird, I think to myself. We’re back in Crema, our Crema, and it feels wrong. I don’t belong here anymore. Maybe I never did, maybe I just made myself believe in something that was never real. It was such a warm and happy place just 18 months ago and now…

 

Someone turns the music on and Timothée starts dancing. And the entire Piazza del Duomo is dancing with him. On this cold winter night _ they  _ are all happy and warm and  _ I _ think I’ve never felt so lonely in my life.

  
  


Crema, May, 2016.

 

“Tomorrow we’re filming the dance scene”. 

 

I can feel Luca’s pointed look with all the fibers of my being. We’ve been dancing (what a joke!) around this for a while, Luca being dreadfully perceptive of my irrational anxiety when it comes to moving to the music. Although I know we could only avoid it for so long, there’s instantly this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. What if I can’t do it? What if I mess it all up? 

 

“Armie,” the director rubs my back in attempt to comfort me, “this is just another scene.” 

 

I feel so silly. People have to do worse things than dancing in front of the cameras to earn money. Hell, I will have to do weirder things than dancing in front of the cameras. Timmy will have to ‘fuck a peach’, for God’s sake. Why do I act like a child? Maybe,  _ because despite all your bravado, you are a child, a little insecure child, who needs guidance and support and reassurance that he’s good at what he does, maybe not the best, but good.  _ I shake head and mutter ‘pathetic’ under my breath, as quietly as possible, but  _ he  _ notices. Of course. I feel like he notices  _ everything _ lately. 

  
  
  


It’s later in the evening, almost midnight, and I’m chilling on my couch, not really asleep but not entirely cognizant either. I think I hear a faint knock on the door, but make no move. There’s another knock, still barely audible but more insistent. I extract myself from my snuggery with a groan.

 

“Timmy?”

 

“Hey, did I wake you?” He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, restless as ever, hands in his pockets, a sheepish expression on his face.

 

“No, no, come on in.” I practically drag him inside and shut the door with much more vigor than necessary. The sound makes him jolt and his eyes grow wide as if he suddenly feels trapped.

 

“What’s up?” 

 

“So… um…  I hope I’m not stepping out of line here… but um…” He’s still fidgeting, his hands clenched into fists now, eyes wandering around the apartment careful not to make contact with mine.

 

“Tim… What is it?” 

 

“I heard your conversation with Luca earlier and… and I thought... I thought, maybe, I could help you. You know, if you want me to…” 

 

“You want to help me?”

 

“Yeah, I mean… We’re co-stars, we’re supposed to, aren’t we?” 

 

He looks up at me and it’s my turn to avert my eyes for the way he offers his help looks more like he’s begging. And  _ begging Timothée  _ is not something I can deal with right now. 

 

“Okay, what did you have in mind?”

 

His tactic is simple, elementary even. To listen to the tunes as many times as possible in order to grow accustomed to them, become one with them so that your body moves to the beat on its own. I risk having an earworm tomorrow but if it helps me do the job, I’m game. 

 

We replay The Psychedelic Furs like 10 times before Timmy jumps to his feet and gestures me to join him.

 

“Come on,” he says, “let’s see if it’s working”.

 

“What?” 

 

“You have to give it a try, and for that you need to get up and start dancing”.

 

No, nonononono. I stay glued to the couch, shaking my head resolutely. No way in hell I’m doing that.

 

“Dude, come on!” He whines as the song starts again. “There’s no one to be ashamed of, it’s just me”.

 

_ Exactly. Just you. And I don’t trust myself one iota around you. Especially when your hips move like that and your head is thrown back and your eyes are shut tight and your throat is exposed...  _

 

He opens his mouth to sing along, whispering the words under his breath, but my mind catches just one of them. I know it’s not my name, I know it. But something clicks in my head and I want him to say it again, and again, and again. I want to make him want to say it with his eyes open, focused on me. I want him to do it completely aware that it is  _ my name  _ that he keeps chanting. 

 

I finally join him on the makeshift dance floor and it doesn’t feel that bad. Maybe, his method is working, after all. He’s grinning triumphantly at me for the full three and a half minutes of the song and then collapses on the couch, breathless but contented. 

 

“I think my job here is done”. Timothée sprawls his limbs all over the settee, covering a yawn. 

 

“Yeah, all we need is to repeat that tomorrow. On set. With people around. For like ten times. Maybe more”. I lift his feet to take a seat and place them on my lap. It suddenly feels like a normal thing to do. 

 

“Except, there isn’t gonna be any music.” 

 

“Shiiiit!”

 

“You’ll be fine.” He playfully nudges my thigh with his heel. I like it. I like it a lot. He doesn’t seem fazed by our abrupt casualness. 

 

“i think so. You’ll be there”. There’s flirtatious note in my voice to which he responds with a warm smile. 

 

“Listen, it’s late. You should stay here for the night.” The words escape my mouth before I even realize it. 

 

“Really? I mean, I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” 

 

“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s totally fine.” I feel like I’m trying to convince myself more than him.

 

“Cool. Cause I don’t feel like moving from this couch…at all.” He yawns enthusiastically and stretches his arms. 

 

“Just make sure you take your shoes off before you fall asleep.” I get up and fold his legs probably more delicately than necessary.

 

“Okay, mom,” he chuckles.

 

The last thing I hear before closing the bathroom door is a thud, unmistakably caused by his Converse hitting the floor. 

  
  
  


Crema, January, 2018. 

 

It’s half past midnight and the hotel is dead quiet. Careful not to wake Elizabeth, I close the door, and lean against it once outside. She was out in no time, jetlagged and exhausted from overly eventful day. I, however, couldn’t sleep, which means I’m going to look like shit at tomorrow press-conference. Again. 

 

I need to go somewhere, need to occupy my mind and my body in order to distract myself from feeling so miserable. But I sense that whenever I go, my misery will follow like a loyal companion. There’s only one place that’s out of its reach. I knock on Timothée ‘s door before my brain has time to signal what a bad idea it is. 

 

He opens in no time, still wearing the outfit from the restaurant we had dinner at. 

 

“Armie? Why are you still up?” He looks worried and sleepy, his eyes red, face paler than usual. He needs rest. I shouldn’t be here. 

 

“Couldn’t sleep. I don’t know why I’m here. I’m gonna…” 

 

He grabs me by the wrist and pulls inside before I finish the sentence, closes the door and turns around on his heels, marching toward minibar. He pours two glasses of whiskey and hands one over to me. He downs his in one gulp, wipes his mouth with a sleeve and nods, directing me to drink. I do just that, though not sure if alcohol is going to help me now.

 

Timothée sits on the bed, folding his arms and nodding at me again.

 

“Spill”.

 

“Huh?”

 

“I’m not blind and I’d like to believe that I’m not stupid either, so I know something’s off with you. What is it?”

 

“ I… Um… I don’t know. I guess, I’m just tired”. I shrug, knowing far too well i don’t look or sound very convincing.

 

Timmy watches me for a moment, either waiting for me to continue or deciding whether to believe me or not. 

 

“I can pretend to buy it…” He releases a heavy sigh. “If you want me to”. 

 

“It’s just…” I run my hand through my hair. “It’s not what I expected it to be like”.

 

He pats the space next to him and as soon as I’m seated rubs my back soothingly, something we’ve been doing to one another when feeling nervous or down. 

 

“I know, today was crazy”.

 

“You had a lot of fun, though.”I do my best not to sound accusing or betrayed. His fingers are busy drawing figures down my spine and it does things to me, though I’m not sure he’s aware of that. 

 

“But  _ you _ didn’t.”

 

“You know I hate dancing.” 

 

“You danced with me”.

 

“We were alone. And it was late in the night. And you basically made me.” 

 

“I’m not making you now. But if you wanted to…”

 

“What?”

 

“We could…”

 

“Dance? Here? Now?”

 

“Armie, we’re back in Crema. We should enjoy it, like, both of us. We kinda owe it to ourselves, don’t we? Besides, if I remember correctly, you did like dancing after all”. 

 

There’s a twinkle in his eye, and his smile is so wide and so warm, that I just can’t bring myself to say no to him. 

  
  


This time  _ I _ end up staying over. After dancing, and drinking more whiskey, and talking, and drinking again we decided it’s better for me to stay than risk waking Elizabeth at 3 a.m. I don’t sleep on the couch,though, because I would never fit (Tim’s words, not mine). So we share the bed instead. 

 

“Thank god, you’ve got a king size.”

 

“Yeah, to fit a giant like you…”

 

“Well, I’m naturally big. You, on the other hand…”

 

“What about me?” He raises himself on his elbows and I do my best to not get distracted by the column of his throat. 

 

“ Timothée , you sleep like a starfish.”

 

“Whaaat?” He looks offended, brows furrowed, lips forming a perfect ‘o’. 

 

I brush off the urge to smooth out the crease on his forehead with my fingers. Or to trace his lips with mine. He’s way too close and I know I’m walking a thin line here, but I don’t care. 

 

“Has no one told you?” I lean a little closer as if to tell a secret. “You sprawl your limbs in your sleep and take the entire space”.

 

He’s silent, not sure if I’m joking, so I go on.

 

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. It’s just… I never would’ve expected such a dainty and graceful man to be so blatantly usurping in bed”.

 

He blinks at me a couple times, muttering ‘blatantly usurping’ under his breath, then shakes his head and covers me with the duvet. 

 

“I’ll make sure to keep my limbs to myself from now on.” He tucks me in methodically, his words not really matching his deeds, but his face is suddenly sad and I want to reach for him, say something good, something comforting. Next thing I know, he’s lying on his side, facing the window, and the moment I try to move closer, he curls up into a Child’s pose, hiding his face under the comforter.  _ What have I done? Again.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every single time ‘Love my way’ starts playing, I’m 100% sure it goes ‘There’s an Armie on the dance floor’ and there’s no way I’ll ever hear it otherwise. That’s exactly what’s going on in Armie’s mind here.
> 
> Besides, I have a weird thing for the way Timothée says Armie’s name, so my version of Armie does, too.


	3. You make me feel little how you're looking at me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember when Timmy Facetimed Armie during The Independent Spirit Awards?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from 'The Beach' by The Neighbourhood.
> 
>  
> 
> A huge thank you to redenodersterben for proofreading and being very nice to me in general.

“I’m so sorry, Timmy. I’m really, really sorry.” 

 

“No, no, no, it’s fine. Everything’s fine. Well, not everything, I mean, you’re sick and it’s not…” He rattles like he always does when he feels uncomfortable.

 

It’s Independent Spirit Awards tonight and I’m in my bed, sick and feverish, ready to throw up from any foreign smell. Elizabeth has been doing God’s work, taking the best care of me  _ and  _ putting up with my attitude. I’m normally quite a tough guy, but once stricken with illness, I become a complete wussy. 

 

“It’s just such a bad timing…”

 

“There’s never a good timing for a stomach bug.” His voice is so soft, I want to wrap it around my body and fall asleep like that.

 

“Yeah, but you’re gonna win. And I won’t be there for you. I have to be there!” 

 

He sighs.

 

“At least, I’m coming to the Oscars. Sick or not, I’m not missing you making the history, winning The Best Male Lead at 22.”

 

“Whoa, okay, let’s not get ahead of ourselves!” Timmy laughs neurotically and i think again that he  _ has  _ to win it, if only for us to see what his reaction would be. With him, you never know. 

 

“Can I call you when it’s over?” He sounds shy, a bit distressed even.

 

“Yeah, sure. You can call me whenever. Hell, you can call when they announce the winner if you need, or when you’re on stage giving speech. I’m here for you, Timothée.” 

 

I can hear him smiling, a good kind of warmth spreading over my body. 

 

“Thanks…” he mutters faintly.

 

God, I want to be there so badly. I want to hold his hand. I want to hug him when they call him out. I want to be the one he locks his eyes with once he’s up there. I want to hold him after, knowing how stressful these things are for him. I hate that he has to go through this alone. 

  
  
  


Crema, June, 2016.

 

It’s been a hell of a day: we started at 6 a. m., struggled through the scorching heat of the afternoon and now, with the sun long gone, we finish filming Elio and Marzia’s ‘date’ scene. I’m not really needed here at this point, but it felt too selfish to just leave to have rest while everyone was still working. 

 

“I think we’re done for today!” Luca sounds exhausted. I guess, even his stamina isn’t bottomless. 

 

The crew’s so tired, no one can even be bothered to express joy. Considering, they’re mostly Italians… that says a lot. 

 

“How about we go get liquored up and take a day off tomorrow?” 

 

We’ve been working nonstop for nearly two weeks and a break is very much needed. Naturally, everyone’s in.

  
  
  


Everybody gets shitfaced. Okay, everybody but me. It takes much more than a couple rounds of shots to take me down. I guess, the general weariness got the best of them. Ferdinando, Luca’s partner, comes to pick him up, suggesting to drive Michael and Amira home too. Esther and Victoire are still dancing, Timothée is lying on the leather bar sofa, half-conscious, twitching his leg to the beat. Even in his most inebriated state, he feels music better than I ever will. 

 

“Everything’s spinning. Why is everything spinning? I don’t like it.” He pouts like a baby and there’s an internal battle within me on whether he looks sexy or pitiful right now. I go for my good sense and try to help him up.

 

“Come on, buddy, let’s get you home.”

 

He instantly clutches at my t-shirt and burrows his head into my chest.

 

“Armieee…” he breathes out and I can feel his lips moving through the fabric. 

 

Jesus.

 

“What?”

 

“Why are you spinning too?”

 

I need to get him out of here. I could carry him.. like bridal style. That wouldn’t be weird, would it? 

 

I bring him to my apartment. He turned out to be in a better shape than I’d thought, so we walked. It might have taken us ten times longer to cross such a short distance (my building is just at the end of the same street) but we’re here and he looks a bit more steady than thirty minutes ago. 

 

“No, no, no, you’re not sleeping on the couch.” I grab him by the wrist at the mere attempt toward it.

 

“What? Why?” He blinks at me, eyes blurred, barely open.  _ God, he’s so dreamy. _

 

“You’re gonna have a bad enough morning tomorrow by default, let’s not add back pain to that.”

 

Without protest he drags his body into my bedroom. I head into the kitchen for a glass of water and some aspirin to minimize the hangover. When I’m back, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, desperately trying to undo the buttons on his shirt. I put the glass on the nightstand and kneel in front of him, batting his hands away. Once I’m done with the buttons I lift my head to find him biting his lip, looking down at me. Normally, it’s the other way around, and it does something to me. Great, another kink I never needed. 

 

“Thank you,” he says chewing the inside of his cheek, “you’re so good.”

 

Am I?

 

He loses his jeans and gets under the blanket and I can’t help but note how tiny and delicate he is. I look gigantic compared to him. 

 

“You should sleep here. There’s no way you’d fit on that couch.” Can he read my mind? 

 

“Don’t worry, Tim, I’ll be fine.”

 

He traces my wrist with his fingers, softly, no demand in his action. 

 

“Please?”

  
  


I brush my teeth longer than necessary, then take a cold shower, then stare at my reflection for good ten minutes, all in hope that by the time I’m back he’s already asleep. Still, when I settle in bed, as far from him as possible, he crawls towards me nuzzling my shoulder. I stiffen as he makes himself comfortable by my side.

 

“You smell like home” he murmurs and in mere seconds he’s out.

  
  
  


LA, March, 2018.

  
  


“Did you just FaceTime with Timmy while he’s at the awards? Like actually sitting in the hall, surrounded by people? Broadcast nationwide, live?” I don’t think I’ve ever seen Elizabeth’s eyes wider than they are now.

 

“Um… he called and I told him I would be there for him…” I sound like I’m justifying myself. Maybe, I should, after all.

 

“That’s very nice of you.” She says with a smirk, there’s something about her tone that makes me shiver. “You are such a good friend.”

 

I feel like there’s more to it… But she doesn’t continue, just stands in the doorframe with her arms folded, her penetrating eyes reaching my very core.

 

“You’ll have to eat soup and take your medicine if you want to be a really good friend for him tomorrow.” She nods toward the tray on my nightstand. “Though, I’m afraid you’ll have to wear your shirt this time.”

 

With that she’s off, leaving me baffled. It’s not like she sounded or looked mad. She’s never made any remarks about my relationship with Timothée. Moreover, she’s been very supportive and even insisted on inviting him over now and then. What’s changed? Has anything?

 

I take my phone and make a selfie for Instagram, still shirtless, with a bowl of soup on my chest. I tag Elizabeth, mentioning how lucky I am to be taken such good care of.  _ He _ likes it immediately. Doesn’t leave a comment, just a like. A bit aloof, but still friendly.

 

I feel sick again, but for a whole other reason.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next stop is the Oscars...


	4. dreaming of angels and leaving without them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If not now, when?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from one of my all-time favourite songs 'Angels' by The XX.

90th Academy Awards. Hollywood, LA. March, 2018.

 

*****Armie*****

 

Mere preparation for the ceremony is leaving me exhausted. I’m still suffering the aftermath of a stomach flu, my head is swimming, body aches from 48 hours in bed. I have to be on the red carpet in less than an hour, preferably looking dapper; my only concern, though, is not to throw up right on my ridiculously expensive Armani.

 Meanwhile, Elizabeth is surrounded by make-up artists, hair stylists and photographers. She’s a ball of energy, all bubbly and giggling,  her voice a pitch higher than usual. I’m glad at least one of us is actually enjoying it.

 It’s not like I don’t want to go, no. It’s a great honor and I’m happy to be there but… It’s the grand finale, there’s nothing after that. All done. _Finito_. And I just can’t bring myself to face it.

 

When we arrive, Timothée is already there, dressed in all white (except for the shoes), bouncing on his feet. He gives me a side-eye and returns his full attention to whoever it is that he’s talking to. We haven’t spoken or texted since our videochat and now it’s awkward. First, because my wife picked up on my bare chested cameo, second, he didn’t call me back like he’d said he would. And damn have I been waiting for that call.

We acknowledge each other in front of cameras, wide smiles on our faces, his hand on my shoulder feels somewhat alien which has never happened before. We exchange meaningless phrases, he compliments on my suit, I say something back. He looks me straight in the eye but it’s like he doesn’t really see me. Or doesn’t want to see.

His mother, on the other hand, emanates warmth. She reaches to embrace me and I almost have to bend in half - she’s so tiny. I squeeze her briefly and try to step back but she won’t let go. She hugs me tightly, her grip is strikingly strong and yet soothing. She hugs me like _she knows_.

 

The ceremony is all a bit of a blur. I keep stealing glances at Tim, knowing that the cameras would catch it. Let them, I think. I’m on borrowed time here, and I’m going to make the most of it. Besides, I simply cannot not look. He’s like a child in a huge toy store, gawking around with his mouth open, grinning from ear to ear. Everytime his face shows up on the screen  he blushes and grabs his mother’s hand. He’s not used to all the praise yet, but this is exactly where he belongs.

We have a few words now and there, commenting on Academy’s choice or someone’s outfit. Elizabeth does not participate. She doesn’t upload dozens of stories on her IG either, simply watches the stage, occasionally chatting with her neighbour on the right. I notice she avoids touching me at most which is really weird. I can tell Timothée sees it too, his expression mirrors precisely my inner agitation. It’s like we’re in the middle of some kind of game no one knows the rules of.

He retreats as soon as the main part is over. Joined by his sister, he heads toward Ansel and his girlfriend, and I stand there empty-handed and heavy-hearted.

He circles around the hall, stopping now and then for a picture or a quick chat. I watch him the entire evening from the corner of my eye. When he’s not in sight, I try to catch whether anyone’s talking about him. And god, they are... Feels like everyone’s infatuated with him, which is hardly surprising really. He literally looks like an angel come down from heaven, far too beautiful and pure to be one of us, but somehow so down-to-earth that he easily fits in. He charms everybody with that smart mouth coupled with his adorable awkwardness. Lethal combination. No one stands a chance.

  
We leave earlier than the rest due to my ‘poor health’. After kissing the already sleeping kids good night, Elizabeth is going for her night care routine and I change into sweatpants and settle in front of TV, a glass of whiskey in my hand, some National Geographic crap in the background. I spin the snifter on my thigh, my thoughts far, far away.

  _I wanted to hold him so badly tonight, my whole body aching for the slightest contact with his. I know it’s not healthy to crave someone so much, especially when that someone is not your wife, and I know what kind of person that makes me,but sometimes I just wonder… What if he knew how I feel about him? What if I mustered up the courage to tell him? Would he be startled at all? Or would he be indifferent? Would he have pity on me? Or would he be merely disappointed?_

 

“You’re on meds, you shouldn’t be drinking.” Elizabeth’s voice jolts me back to reality.

“I’ve had champagne at the afterparty so I’m gonna throw up anyway.”

She winces at the words and the harshness of my tone and I quickly apologize. “Sorry, I just… Don’t mind me.”

“You barely spoke to him tonight.”

I shrug.

“He was busy. Making new friends and all…”

“Armie…” Elizabeth sinks into the armchair across me.

“It’s alright. I was just sad that it’s about to be over in a couple of days, so I needed to distance myself a little.”

She huffs. My wife huffs.

“It doesn’t have to be...”

“What?”

“Over.”

I lean back, still playing with the drink in my hand, grateful for a reason to not  look her in the eye.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that the end of awards season doesn’t necessarily has to be the end of _you_ …”

“Yeah, right.” I sound bitter and callous, and she doesn’t deserve that.

“There’s still time for you to do something.”

“About what?”

“Can we stop pretending you’re not in love with him?”

Her words hit me like a bucket of cold water, leaving me frozen on the spot, choking. I’ve never let those words form even in my own mind and she throws them at me just like that.

“You didn’t think I knew?”

_Of course, she knew. The problem is, I didn’t._

“I know nothing happened and I appreciate your loyalty, Armie, but it’s getting physically painful to watch you two trying to do the right thing.”

“Elizabeth, it’s not like that, I swear...”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t think about him every minute of every day?”

I swallow hard and lower my gaze, defeated.

“I would lie if I told you I didn’t feel betrayed but it’s impossible not to see how perfectly you complement each other. You and I were never like that. Good, maybe, but definitely not perfect. And I’ve accepted that. I think you should, too.”

I sigh heavily.  

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

I give her the most pointed look I can pull off and she just rolls her eyes.

“Seriously, Armie, now is sooo not the time to be noble.”

“Why are you telling me this?” It somehow feels right to channel Oliver in the moment.

“Because there’s no one else who can say this to you but me.” She retorts.

We share a sad but warm smile. She must be the best person I’ve ever met.

“I want you to be happy and you are clearly not. If he’s what you want…” she swallows and smiles tightly, “then you gotta do what you gotta do.”

She rises to leave but then bends over to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. “And I still think you shouldn’t be drinking.”

 

An hour later I’m still on the couch, a glass in my hand finished and replaced by my phone. I flip it absentmindedly, deciding whether I should go for another whiskey. I unlock the screen, type ‘ **Hey, you up?’** , press ‘Send’ before I change my mind and reach for the bottle. The response comes within seconds, as if he’s been waiting for me to text. Or he might have just been on the phone with someone else.

 

        < _T > heeey, yeah, just got back to the hotel. _

_Pauline is wasted. *tongue sticking out emoji*_

 

**< A> Good for her. Did YOU have a good **

**time tonight?**

  
< _T > yeah, yes, i did _

 

**< A> Good for you, too. **

 

< _T > did you? _

 

**< A> Sure. Not enough alcohol though,**

**but I’m fixing it *photo of a glass of whiskey***

 

< _T > should you be drinking while you’re on meds? _

 

**< A> You sound like my wife.**

 

< _T > is it a bad thing that people who love you _

_are worried about you?_

 

**< A> Do you?**

 

< _T > what? _

 

**< A> Nothing.**

 

< _T > armie? what’s wrong? _

 

**< A> Nothing.**

 

**< A> All g.**

 

**Incoming call ‘Timmy’**

 

I press ‘Ignore’.

  
< _T > armie pick up the phone _

 

**Incoming call ‘Timmy’**

 

< _T > armie for fuck’s sake! _

 

**Incoming call ‘Timmy’**

 

< _T > please _

 

**< A> I’m sorry, Tim. I’m such a fucking mess. **

 

< _T > you’re not armie. you’re not _

< _T > talk to me_

 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**< A> I don’t want to be without you.**

  **< A> Ever.**

 


	5. no one gives us any time anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from 'Instant Crush' by Daft Punk feat. Julian Casablancas.
> 
>  
> 
> Split POV.

Austin, Texas. March, 2018.

  
  


*****Timothée*****

  
  


I can’t sleep. Again. It’s been three nights since the Oscars and I still can’t sleep. I doze in the daytime cause my body needs rest, but I never fully black out, my brain constantly keeping me reminded of that text that I missed because  _ I fucking fell asleep _ . In the morning, when I finally read it, a wave of numbness washed over me, leaving me paralyzed for a good twenty minutes. Pauline had to come into my room and literally shake me up.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to. I still don’t know and it’s too late anyway. I’m going to see him in an hour and give a speech and present him with an award. 

Talk about Oscar-worthy performances. 

  
  


I’ve spent the last year and a half walking on thin ice, constantly ready to drown in him had he let me. We’ve been friends, ‘brothers’ even, and yet there were times… Times like that cold January night in Crema when he looked so miserable and I felt like I was the only one who could comfort him. Or times like those countless press conferences when I could literally feel his eyes devouring me (I’ve spent hours on YouTube making sure I hadn’t imagined the whole thing). Or times like the Oscars night when he’s been nothing but a creepy stalker - always keeping an eye on me but never coming near. Times when I had to replay this mantra in my head - ‘not mine, not mine, not mine’ - to prevent myself from doing something stupid.

He’s been more needy lately. At least, that’s what it felt like to me. We’ve been constantly together, and when not, we texted and video chatted. I was elated. His seemingly insatiable attention made my fantasies - about him, about us - go wild. I knew he was married and it was all  _ very wrong _ , but deep down I also knew neither of us would ever cross any line, so I  turned these fantasies into a guilty pleasure and revelled in it from time to time. 

Until I started to get concerned remarks from my sister on how things were between us. The media have been doing their work of making us look like more than just friends, and they’ve been doing it so well that even my family has begun to worry. There were also changes on Elizabeth’s side. She’s become more distant and formal and Armie has started mentioning her in his every Instagram post. They were a very affectionate family, but somehow now it was feeling forced. 

 

The Indie Spirit Awards worked like an explosive grenade. FaceTiming him shirtless and sweaty, for once, was not a good idea. But revealing to the entire world that he video chatted with me half-naked was really stupid of me. Judging by his overly sweet IG post in less than 30 minutes, he must have been given quite an earful from Elizabeth. And I received a bunch of messages basically screaming at me ‘ _ What were you thinking?’  _

The problem is, I wasn’t. For once in a long time I acted on my feelings and needs and look how well it worked out. So I promised myself to give careful thought to everything I say or do, and it worked fine for the Oscars. Until that text… 

I’ve been replaying his words like a broken record hoping to grasp their true meaning. Was he feeling lonely and it was a simple cry for help, or was he anxious about the tour coming to an end? Or was he saying what I so desperately hoped he was saying? It couldn’t be true. Could it?

I need to see him to know if we’re on the same page. And if we are, I’ll find a way to make it up to him for not responding right away and do whatever it takes to make him believe he will never have to be without me.  _ Ever _ . 

  
I exit the elevator and there he is, laughing, giving orders in playful tone, looking perfect as always. No hint of a ‘ _ fucking mess’ _ he claimed he was just a couple nights ago. Of course.  _ Of fucking course.  _

  
  


“ Timmy!” His voice is like a thunder and it makes me shiver. 

 

He’s surrounded by a dozen of people and meticulously attends to every one of them, deliberately avoiding meeting my eyes. But when he finally does, there’s this look on his face, the one that he gives reporters when they are being annoying. Well, this is really nice. He could have punched me in the face and it would’ve felt less humiliating.

That’s when I know. I can’t do this anymore. I’m so fucking tired. Of his mood swings, of always being on guard, of caring what people might think. 

Apparently, the universe thinks I haven’t had enough cause at this very moment Armie grabs me by the elbow and almost turns me around. 

“Timothée, I would like you to meet my mother, Dru.” He gestures toward a tall blond woman. “Mom, this is Timothée, Academy Awards Nominee  _ and  _ my friend.” 

I feel like all the air has escaped from my lungs.

She examines me, tilting her head as if I’m some exotiс animal, and goes for a brief handshake. Her eyes are like X-rays, I think. She’ll see right through me. She’ll see what’s on my heart. She’ll know. Maybe she already knows.

_ Fuck it,  _ I resolve. Let her see. Let everybody see. At this point I feel like I’ve got nothing to lose.

  
  
  


*****Armie*****

  
  


His speech is a disaster. He stutters more than usual, his thoughts clearly out of place. He can’t stop singing praises of me, repeating just how much he loves me. The audience is ecstatic. 

When I come up, though, he doesn’t meet my gaze and jolts back as our fingers brush against the award. I’m still not over how brazenly he ignored my revelation and this is not helping me. One second he’s all affectionate and then he’s avoiding me like the plague. 

Luca always says  Timothée is like an open book. Why of all people am I the one who can’t read him?

  
We pose for more photos afterwards, Elizabeth ridiculously persistent in not joining the two of us in the picture. Timmy seems even more unnerved if it’s even possible and when my mom approaches us, I can swear he’d give anything to be  _ anywhere _ else but here. 

To add to his misery, mother hugs him.  _ My  _ mother  _ hugs _ him. 

“That was one emotional speech, Timothée.” His name sounds weird coming from her. 

He looks like he’s about to cry. 

“Yes, well…” He twitches, his voice is edgy. I feel an instant urge to wrap my arms around him, to protect him.

“My son is a very lucky man to have such loving people by his side.” She shoots me an impish glance. 

Okay. What is she getting at?

  
He refuses to join us for dinner. Says he needs to rest before an early flight. We embrace awkwardly, he’s trembling in my arms. This is not how it was supposed to go. If it‘s to be a goodbye, it should be a proper one, not a pathetic hug in front of a ‘prison guard’ in the form of my mother.

He lifts his head and finally,  _ finally _ looks at me, really looks at me. It’s like I’m staring in the mirror, all the pain of impending parting reflects in his eyes. They basically scream ‘I don’t want this’ as I’m sure mine do too. How come I never saw it before?

 

As he leaves all the noises around me are drowned out by one very distinct sound: my heart shattering into pieces.


	6. dealing with it on my own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More angst, anyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from Lany's 'Malibu Nights'. Heart-wrenching stuff.
> 
>  
> 
> I drew inspiration for the chapter from 'Between the Lines' by ForYouInSilence and LivefromG25 (aka the best RPF in this fandom, imho of course). I hope, they don't mind.

London. April, 2018.

  


**Incoming call ‘Armand’**

  
  
**< A> Hey, Timmy.**

_ <T> Heeey! _

**< A> Haven’t heard from you in ages.**

**How are things?**

_ <T> Um… Good. I’m good. You? _

  
**< A> Same. Where are you?**

_ <T> London. _

**< A> Already? Isn’t it a bit too early?**

_ <T> It’s a huge project. There’s a LOT to do. _

**< A> How is it going with that accent?**

_ <T> Nobody understands a word that I’m saying. _

_I think I’m nailing it._

**< A> Haha. Good for you. I know I’d **

**never be able to pull it off.**

_ <T> Nah. You’d look and sound like _

_a typical 17th century colonist._

**< A> Thanks. On the other note, **

**aren’t British pissed that their king**

**is portrayed by a French guy?**

_ <T> Well, I’m only half-French. _

**< A> And half-American. Which is even worse.**

_ <T> I guess, they’ll just have to live with it. _

**< A> Someone’s feisty.**

_ <T> Anyway. How are you? _

**< A> I’m fine. I’m in New Orleans. **

**We started filming last week.**

_ <T> Yeah, so I’ve seen. How is it? _

**< A> So far so good. Though I’m**

**basically dead on my feet. All.The.Damn.Time.**

_ <T> What? Why? _

**< A> Ford has started talking and it’s very **

**important to encourage him at that point. Harper,**

**in her turn, has been feeling robbed of attention**

**so she’s even more needy than usual. I barely have**

**time to sleep between filming and taking care of kids,**

**and I’m so exhausted that I merely blackout as soon**

**as my head touches the pillow. Then before I**

**know it, it’s time to get up and it’s all over again.**

**Fuck, it sounds like I’m complaining but I’m not.**

**I promise I’m not.**

_ <T> Armie, it just sounds like it’s a lot. Which _

_is exactly how it is. Anyone would feel_

_the same. Most would freak out. I know I would._

_But you’re doing great. As always._

**< A> Yeah, thanks, I guess. I don’t**

**know how Elizabeth does it when I’m**

**not around. She makes it look so simple.**

**And my apartment looks like it’s been**

**through a storm right now.**

_ <T> Wait. Elizabeth is not with you? _

**< A> No, she’s in Texas. There’s a chance**

**she’s going to open the third bakery the**

**upcoming month so she needs to sort**

**everything out with the operating ones.**

_ <T> Sounds like you have another busy year ahead of you. _

_With you filming and then doing Broadway show in NYC_

_and her engaged in business expansion…_

**< A> Well, she’s been postponing for **

**over a year to support me. Now it’s time for her**

**to go do her thing.**

_ <T> Oh. Okay. Wow. You truly are couple goals. _

**< A> Em.. about that...**

_ <T> Um… Sorry, Armie, I’m being called up.   _

_It was nice catching up but I gotta go._

 

**< A> Yeah, sure. Take care, Timmy.**

**Give London hell!**

  


**Call ended.**

  
  
  
  


London. May, 2018.

  


**Incoming call ‘Armand’**

_ <T> Hey. _

**< A> Thank God, you’re alive.**

_ <T> Hm? _

**< A> You’ve been playing the quiet game lately.**

_ <T> Sorry. I’ve had a lot on my plate. _

**< A> So I’ve seen. Have you started filming?**

_ <T> Not yet. Preparation takes ages. _

_The costumes are mostly done._

_Now they’re deciding on my hair._

_Apparently, it’s crucial to have the right hair._

**< A> So you’re getting shaved after all?**

_ <T> Looks like it, yeah. _

**< A> Are you okay with it?**

_ <T> I guess. I mean, it’s just hair. It’ll grow back. _

**< A> But it’s your hair. I bet it has **

**its own IG account with thousands**

**of people who are about to go into**

**mourning.**

_ <T> Oh, shut up. _

**< A> Okay, okay.**

_ <T> Are you in New York? _

**< A> Yep.**

_ <T> How is it? _

**< A> Hot, stuffy, deafening. A bit dull**

**since you’re not here.**

_ <T> Yeah, if I were there you’d never be bored. _

_Not for a second. You’d probably get sick of me_

_before your play even premiered._

**< A> Come on, you know I wouldn’t.**

_ <T> I can be quite annoying as I’m sure _

_you’ve learned by now._

**< A> Stop. I hate when you put yourself down.**

_ <T> See, I annoy you even from the other side of the pond. _

**< A> Tim?**

_ <T> Yeah? _

**< A> What’s wrong?**

_ <T> Why does anything have to be wrong? _

**< A> You sound... agitated.**

_ <T> I’m fine. _

**< A> ‘Fine’ as in ‘fuck off’ or ‘fine’**

**as in ‘I’m having soo much fun right now’.**

_ <T> The latter. _

**< A> Really?**

_ <T> Yes. _

**< A> Good. I’m happy for you. **

_ <T> Do you mean it? _

**< A> Why wouldn’t I?**

_ <T> I don’t know. _

**< A> What the hell, Timothée?**

_ <T> Now you sound agitated. _

**< A> No, I don’t.**

_ <T> Uh-huh. _

**< A> What?**

_ <T> Why did you really call? _

**< A> WHAT?**

_ <T> We haven’t been in touch for almost a month. Why now? _

**< A> I don’t know what you mean.**

_ <T> Bullshit. _

**< A> Why would I need a reason to call my friend?**

_ <T> So the idea came from nowhere? _

**< A> Maybe I just missed you?**

_ <T> Did you? _

**< A> ** **_I_ ** **did.**

_ <T> What is that supposed to mean? _

**< A> Well, ** **_you’ve_ ** **clearly been too busy doing**

**whatever it is that you’ve been doing to give me a call.**

**Or a text. Or anything, for that matter.**

_ <T> I thought you were happy with me ‘having fun’. _

**< A> I didn’t say I wasn’t.**

_ <T> Try again. _

**< A> You can ‘have fun’ as much as you want. **

**As long as you’re careful.**

_ <T> Oh, so that’s what this is about? Don’t worry, Armie, _

_I’ve got a good head on my shoulders._

**< A> Good. Wouldn’t want you to get**

**in any kind of trouble.**

_ <T> I’m 22. When am I supposed to experience ‘trouble’ if not now? _

**< A> If that’s what you really want…**

_ <T> What does it matter what I really want? _

**< A> Actually, that’s all that matters.**

_ <T> What are we even talking about? _

**< A> I honestly don’t know. I feel like I never know**

**what we’re talking about these days. It’s like**

**you’re a completely different person and I don’t**

**know you anymore…**

_ <T> You mean you don’t like me anymore? _

**< A> I mean what I said.**

_ <T> Maybe I don’t know me anymore either. _

**< A> Tim.. Talk to me.**

_ <T> What is there to talk about? _

**< A> You. I want to talk about you. **

**You never tell me anything anymore**

**and it’s killing me.**

_ <T> I don’t want you to go into your ‘dad-of-the-year’ mode _

_with me. I can handle my shit on my own._

**< A> Yeah, you’ve been doing great job**

**judging by IG and Twitter posts.**

_ <T> Since when do you consider those as _

_reliable sources?_

**< A> Since I have nothing better to rely on.**

**You’ve been ghosting me since Austin and**

**I’m worried.**

_ <T> Of course you are… _

**< A> Don’t be like that.**

_ <T> Like what? _

**< A> Dismissive.**

_ <T> Whatever. _

**< A> Timothée, what’s wrong? What did I do? **

_ <T> You didn’t do anything. _

**< A> Then why are shutting me out?**

_ <T> Listen, I gotta go. _

**< A> No fucking way. We’re not done here.**

_ <T> Somebody’s waiting for me so… _

**< A> Oh, one of your ** **_new friends_ ** **, I guess. Or…**

**Is it the ‘mystery blonde’? Hm?**

_ <T> Oh, don’t you dare! You know  nothing _

_about what’s going on in my life!_

**< A> Of fucking course, I know nothing! Because**

**you won’t fucking tell me!**

_ <T> Do not yell at me! I didn’t do anything wrong. _

**< A> I never said you did. I’m just… **

_ <T> What? You just what? _

**< A> I don’t know!**

_ <T> Stop yelling at me! You don’t have the right _

_to be angry with me. Just like you have no right to tell_

_me what to do. Or not to do. I’m so fucking sick of_

_people telling me what to do._

**< A> I wasn’t… It’s not… You know what?**

**Fine. I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you**

**want.**

_ <T> … _

**< A> Sorry to bother you, Timothée. **

**Won’t happen again.**

  


**Call ended.**

  
  



	7. you've been wrestling something, reckless assumptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has to meddle because these two clearly can’t work it out on their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from a song 'TOOGOODTOBETRUE' by Gallant featuring Sufjan Stevens and Rebecca Sugar.

*****Timothée *********

  


London. May, 2018.

  


Twenty minutes after the call I’m still sitting in the same position, staring blindly into nothing. I wanted to scream at first. Then I wanted to break something. Now I want to cry from my stupidity. Why did I need to put on the show? Why not just tell him the truth?

_There was no mystery blonde, Armie. Nor was there a mystery brunette. There was no one. Just me, lonely and miserable. Aching to call you. To blow all of this off and just hop on the plane to New York to see you. But my agent said the rumour was a good thing. That it would make people talk about me, ‘me’ as an individual, not Armie Hammer’s clingy co-star. He said that my lack of comment would add up to the whole thing. Silence does mean consent, after all. I wonder if the rumour was his idea in the first place._

_And as for my ‘new friends’... I’ve felt so forlorn, I simply had to surround myself with people. Any people, for that matter. And they wanted me around. Though… every single second I was with them I wished I was with you. Even as your clingy co-star. Even if your wife would start to doubt my true motives (who am I kidding, she knows my true motives). Even if you never want me the way I want you._

I shake my head. He doesn’t need to know any of it. I would die on the spot if he gave me one of those ‘oh-you-poor-thing’ sighs.

 

I jolt at the sound of Pauline’s ringtone, cheerful rap song feels out of place in my dim cold apartment.

  
  
<P> I swear, if I get caught in the rain

within this week one more time…

_ <T> ...you’ll start to check the weather forecast? _

<P> What’s wrong?

_ <T> Why does everybody keep asking me this? _

<P> Who’s everybody?

_ <T> What do you want? _

<P> Actually, I wanted to ask you to spend the weekend

with me. But if you’re gonna be like this, I’m not sure

about that.

_ <T> Oh… You’re coming to London? _

<P> I was kinda hoping you’d like to come visit.

Paris is heavenly in May. Even when it’s raining…

constantly.

_ <T> As much as I like the idea… I’m not certain _

_I’m allowed to leave._

<P> Oh, come on. It’s not a prison break,

I’m your sister.

_ <T> Fine. I’ll talk to Brian and call you back. _

<P> You do that.

<P> Um… Timmy?

_ <T> Yeah? _

<P> Are you alright?

  
  


Paris. May, 2018.

  


Normally, the mere idea of coming to Paris would be enough to make me jump with excitement. I came here for the first time when I was a child and fell in love instantly. It has become my favourite place in the world, apart for New York, of course. Today, though, it just feels like another city, too loud and lively for my pathetic self. I make my way through the crowd to the taxi, cap low on my face, headphones on with no music playing.

Pauline recognized my distress with her special sister-sense without even seeing me, and now discreetly inspects my face to figure the extent of it. She carefully hugs me as if I’m badly injured and leads me towards the car. No bouncing, no French-style kisses, no sarcastic remarks she likes so much. She squeezes my hand gently and we spend the ride in silence.

  
“So, how is London?” She asks once we’re finally in her tiny kitchen, sipping coffee, waiting for our food to arrive.

“Still disorienting… in every sense.”

Pauline nods with a faint smile. It’s become our inside joke - my inability to get used to left-side traffic and the variety of accents.

“How are _you_?”

I could never lie to her. Never wanted to either.

She doesn’t push further, knowing me all too well, simply reaches for my left hand and intertwines her fingers with mine.

“We hadn’t spoken in three weeks…” I don’t need to say the name, not with her. “And then he called. And _then_ we yelled at each other. And _now_ I feel like shit.”

“You did what?”

“Well, he yelled at me and I yelled back. But I’m pretty sure it was my fault.”

Pauline is quiet for a moment, probably deciding how not to scare me off with what she’s about to say.

“Why weren’t you in touch for so long? You used to chat every day. All this time you were both on your phones, texting constantly, like two schoolgirls.”

“Um…”

“What happened between you?”

She suddenly doesn’t sound so cautious anymore.

I bite the inside of my cheek. How do I tell her? Should I even? She waits patiently for me to start talking, her eyebrows furrowed in genuine concern.

“He told me something… Um…”

Unable to put it into words, I pull out my phone and hand it to her, his text practically screaming at me from the screen.

Her eyes follow the words, growing grotesquely wide, making her look like an anime character.

“Timothée…” She gapes, my name is barely audible, and puts the phone down carefully. “When did he…?”

“The night after the Oscars.”

“And how did you respond?”

“I didn’t.”

“What?”

“I was asleep. And then…”

“Timothée!” She groans as if she’s in physical pain. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking. But most importantly, I don’t know what _he_ was thinking when he wrote that text.”

“Oh, that’s it. That’s what you’ve been doing for the past two months? Trying to justify yourself for being a coward? Thinking of million alternatives, when it’s clear as a fucking day what he meant?”

“You don’t know that.”

“Stop! Just stop! I’m so angry with you right now. He opened a vein for you and you just shut him down. No wonder he yelled at you. I’m this close to do the same!”

“You _are_ yelling at me, in case you haven’t noticed…”

“Well, I’ve got a good reason for it!”

“Pauline, what was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to talk. Like normal people do.”

“Yeah? And say what?”

“That you feel exactly the same.”

“And how would it make things easier?”

“It’s never easy when it comes to love…”

“It’s not... He can’t be… He’s got a wife. And kids.”

“I’ve got news for you, brother. Married people fall in love, too. I mean, we all know what a great husband and dad he is. But there’s only so much you can do to ignore what’s in your heart.”

  
It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it way too much. But  hearing my sister saying the words out loud makes me dizzy. _In love._ My brain rejects the concept immediately, but my heart… My heart trembles with hope. What if? God, _what if!_

“It’s still wrong.” My stubborn logic never gives up easily.

“Maybe.” Pauline shrugs apologetically. “But you have to tell him nonetheless.”

“What if it makes things worse?”

“Worse, huh?” She strokes my cheek and gives me a crooked smile.

  
  
New York. May, 2018.

 

*****Armie*****

  
My phone is buzzing like crazy and I’m just too lazy to get it.

Okay, that’s not completely true.

The truth is, I don’t really feel like talking. To anyone.

Okay, that’s not completely true either.

There’s only one person I want to talk to. But I’m 100% sure that’s not him. And… I wouldn’t know what to say to him anyway. Do I pretend like nothing happened? Do I apologize? Do I ask him why the fuck is he doing all of this to me?

The phone rings again. And again. And again. With a groan I grab it from the coffee table to see ‘Pauline Chalamet’ on the display. She never calls me. Which makes my imagination go wild with the worst assumptions.

“Hello?” I respond in a shallow voice.

 

<P> Armie? It’s Pauline…

**< A>Yes, yes, hi.**

<P> Bonsoir. I’m not distracting you, am I?

**< A> No, not at all. Is everything alright?**

<P> You can say so…

**< A> Okay, now you’re really scaring me.**

<P> No, no, it’s nothing like that.

**< A> Then what is it?**

<P> I’m about to break a dozen rules here,

but desperate times call for desperate measures, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your kudos and comments give me life!


	8. I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your neck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They talk, can you believe it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from 'Fallingforyou' by The 1975.
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry for the delay - work is kicking my ass right now.

London. May, 2018.

 

***** Timothée*****

 

It never ceases to surprise me just how lonely London feels. With all its innate magnificence, bottomless diversity and never-ending commotion. I come from a very similar city, I should fit in with no effort, but no. Deep down I know it has everything to do with my inner mess and until I fix it I won’t fit anywhere. 

The weekend with Pauline didn’t really help. After  _ the talk _ she did everything to cheer me up, taking me to our favourite places and showering me with her sisterly love. I played the best ‘happy Timothée’ I could. She didn’t buy it, of course. 

I’m locking the front door when my phone rings. I know who it is without looking. My heart pounds so loud, it drowns all other sounds. 

“Armie?” I press the phone closer with my shoulder and lean against the door, trusting neither hands nor feet. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Can we talk?”

“Yes, yes, sure.”

“It might take a while.”

“I’m all done for today so…”

“Good. I’ll be at your place in like half an hour. Buzz me in.”

He hangs up before I get to respond.

_ He’ll be here in half an our. In my apartment. In London.  _

First thing on my mind is to call Pauline and give her an earful, because I’m sure as fuck it’s her doing. Then I think  what’s the point? What’s done is done. I’d better clean up my own mess instead.

  
Usually, the time moves painfully slow when you’re waiting for someone. Right now, though, it flies at the fucking speed of light. He’s downstairs in what feels like no time and I still haven’t come up with anything decent. 

_ First, don’t get all defensive. Second, keep your hands to yourself. Third, apologize. But don’t overdo it.  _ Okay, looks like I do have a plan. Here we go.

 

He looks weird. It’s not just travel exhaustion. Or too many sleepless nights. He looks drained. Lifeless. He’s more like a black and white version of himself. He puts down his carry-on and pulls me into a hug. It’s awkward and mostly superficial but I use the moment to inhale his scent. At least he smells the same.

“I know it’s quite abrupt but… Do you think you could shelter a friend for 24 hours?” 

“That’s how long you’re staying?”

“Yep. Short trip, but  _ very important _ . Kinda unexpected though. Didn’t really have the time to book a hotel so…”

“No, no. It’s fine.” I break into motion, grabbing his suitcase, moving chaotically around the living room. “You must be hungry?”

“When am I not?” He watches me with curious expression. “But first, do you think I could use the shower? I smell like plane.”

“Of course. You go do that and I’ll order some food.”

“Excellent.” He heads to where I’m pointing but stops halfway. “”It’s so good to see you, Tim.”

It takes everything in me to not climb him and suffocate in a real hug.

“Yes.” I simply nod but give him my warmest smile. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  
Twenty minutes later he joins me in the kitchen looking noticeably better. His cheeks have gained some color and there’s a familiar hint of a smile in his eyes.

“Pauline called you?” 

Since we don’t have much time I decide to jump right in.

“Yes.” He settles on a bar stool across the island as I push a cup of coffee towards him.

“What did she say?”

“She said London is gorgeous in spring and I need to drop everything and come see it.”

We watch each other closely. He’s the first to break eye contact.

“She said you weren’t doing that great and could use some friendly support.” He shrugs defensively. “And considering how well our last phone call went I thought I’d better meet you in person.”

“About that call…”

“Timmy, it’s okay.” He cuts me off. “We all have bad days.”

“That’s no excuse for me being an asshole.”

“It’s alright. I’ve been there too, you know.”

“I just want you to know… I’m so sorry for yelling at you. And for shutting down. And for everything else.”

“Tim…”

“Things had been piling up for weeks and it was only a matter of time until I’d snap. You were the lucky one to witness my meltdown.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me? I would’ve listened. That’s what we do, isn’t it?”

“That’s what we used to do, yes. But you can’t guide me by the hand through all the bumps in the road, I need to learn how to handle things on my own.”

“And how has it been working for you so far?” There’s no judgement in his voice, just genuine concern.

“It’s safe to say I suck at it.”

“I knew there had to be something you’re not good at!” He slaps the table and we both burst out laughing.

 

Our food arrives and move to the couch. 

“Mmm… Indian, my favourite.” He side-eyes me while unpacking the bags.

“Anything to please you.” I use my sweetest voice and widest smile which makes him frown in amusement. “I can’t let you tell the reporters that I’m as terrible a host as I am a guest.”

“Pfff… It’ll take more than food to convince me.”

“Maybe I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve?”

“I’m sure you do.” 

  
  


Once the dinner is done I curl up at his side, my head resting on his shoulder. 

“I’m really happy that you’re here. I’ve been feeling like shit lately.” I mumble into his sleeve.

He sighs and pulls me closer. It’s been a while since we’ve felt this comfortable together and I want to savour every single minute.

“Do you want to talk about it or…?”

“Maybe… I’ve barely spoken to anyone for the past three weeks so I’m not sure where to start.”

“How about with why you haven’t spoken to anyone for the past three weeks?”

“When I first came here I was feeling a bit off. Having literally no one around didn’t help. I was trying to reach out to certain people but they had their own things to do, which is totally fine… Though it didn’t feel fine at the time. Hence my irrational grudges… as if I hadn’t had enough on my plate. Then contract negotiations took an unexpected turn. According to the agreement I wasn’t supposed to post anything on my social media, public appearances were to be cut down to the minimum. No photos with fans or relatives, obviously. Basically, I was about to play dead for the next three months. In the heat of the moment I figured it wasn’t such a big deal. And then shit hit the fan. 

First, photos and videos from Cannes took over Instagram, accompanied by some unflattering comments. Needless to say, I didn’t take it too well. People making assumptions, saying things. It affected me more than it should have, but I guess I’d been quite gone by then. Couple days later I woke up to find out I’d been making out with some girl the previous night. No photos, naturally, because it never happened. Still it was enough for another wave of bitter remarks. ‘Good boy gone bad’ and all that stuff… Some suggested I got hooked. Others wrote I was trying to...get over you. I knew I should’ve just ignored all this but it’s hard to do when you’re all alone in a foreign city with a figurative gag in your mouth.”

I rattle so fast, I literally need to stop for a breath. Armie’s hand gently caresses my back now, and I relax immediately, my whole body melting in his touch. 

“Why didn’t you talk to Brian?” He murmurs softly.

“I did. He said it’s good when people talk about you.You should be more worried when they don’t. I know what he means, but I’d still prefer people to hash over my professional merits rather than who I kiss or hang out with. Does it make me naive?”

“No. It’s normal to want to keep your private life private.”

“You seem to be okay with yours quite exposed…”

“It’s not really up to me, if I’m being honest… Tim?”

“Huh?”

“Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“I did. And we both know how well it worked out.”

“No, I mean why didn’t you reach out to me when you were feeling lonely?”

“I didn’t think I could…”

“How so?”

“Our goodbye in Austin left me with a sad aftertaste and I wasn’t sure calling you would make me feel better. For all I knew, it could only add up to my misery. I guess, that’s the only thing guys on Twitter were right about - I was trying to distract myself from our separation by hanging out with people I barely knew.”

“So are you? Over our ‘separation’?”

“Can’t you tell?”

  
  
“So what are we doing?” Armie inquires once we finish cleaning up.

“Um… We can go out, if you want…” 

“Do you want to go out?” He raises his brow.

“Yes...Sure…” I know I don’t sound remotely convincing.

“Tim?” He approaches me and lifts my chin with his index finger. “Do  _ you  _ want to go out?” 

“It’s not like I don’t want to. I just don’t think the world needs to know you’re in London… with me. And you know paps have sense for this sort of thing.”

“We stay in, then. I hope you have something stronger than Earl Grey.”

  
We end up watching panel shows, drinking good old whiskey which I bought just in case. Armie falls asleep before we’re even tipsy, his body curled up by my side, head in my lap. An overwhelming surge of affection washes over me and I, for once, let it, brushing stray hair from his face and stroking his cheek. 

I wake him up an hour later. He blinks confusedly, his eyes wide and so so blue. 

“Did I fall asleep?” His hoarse voice does not fit with his childish look right now.

“You might have, yeah.”

“What time is it?”

“About midnight.”

He yawns and stretches out his legs.

“Come on, it’s much more comfortable to sleep in bed.” I urge him to move.

“But we were supposed to drown our problems in booze!”

“Armie, you’ve had a long hard day. And tomorrow you’re gonna have another one. You need rest, not a hangover.”

“You’re boring.”

“Took you almost two years to figure it out?”

  
We brush our teeth, our bodies pressed close together.

“Why is it so fucking cold in here?” 

“Old building. Plus, it’s supposed to be warm in May, and, well, it’s not…” 

“I literally can’t feel my toes.” He whines.

“And I thought that out of the two of us  _ I  _ was a baby.”

He doesn’t respond, just folds his arms, waiting for me to finish.

“The thing is,” I wipe my mouth and shoo him out of the bathroom, “I only have one blanket.”

“Are you saying that on top of freezing on my own, I’d have to deal with your ice cold feet all night long?”

“Yep.” My face splits into a grin. 

“Great.” He growls in fake annoyance.

 

“Thank you for coming.” I whisper once we’re settled under the duvet. “I know I’ve said it like a thousand times but… I appreciate it so much. I’d never expect anyone to do something like that for me.”

“Tim…” He sighs. “When will you realize just how important you are?”

He leans closer and burrows his face in the crook of my neck. If I weren’t this sleepy, I’d probably go into overdrive. At this moment, though, his proximity is soothing.

“You smell of New York.”

“Not possible, I took a shower, remember?”

“It’s not that, you goose. It’s just… You smell like home.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

“I know.”

“Really? I’m surprised you remember.”

“I remember everything.”

“That’s my line.”

  
We go silent. I’m warm and safe and deliriously happy. I wrap my arms around him, suddenly feeling bold for some reason, and it feels so good - I’m kinda afraid I’ll never want to let go. He yields willingly and completely and I wonder why I’ve never held him like this.

Before my mind starts to arrange the reasons in alphabetical order, I drift off.

The last thing I remember before falling asleep is a barely audible ‘Good night,  Timothée’ and  his lips pressed to my pulse point in an open-mouthed kiss.

Or did I dream it?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to redenodersterben for struggling through this chapter with me ;)


	9. if you’re gonna be the death of me, that’s how I wanna go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> procrastination
> 
> _noun_  
>  the act of delaying something that must be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from 'Collar Full' by Panic! at the disco

London. May, 2018.

  
*****Armie*****

  
I open my eyes to a sunlit bedroom, the space next to me empty and cold, a folded piece of paper lying on the pillow. 

  
_ Got called into a meeting. Hope it won’t take long.  _

_ Make yourself at home. _

_ P.S. I’m afraid there’s no food in the fridge, which I’m sooo sorry about.  _ _ Another set of keys is on the kitchen island in case I’m not back soon. _

  
  
He is back right when I’m about to go get coffee, a cardboard cup holder in one hand, a bag of groceries in the other. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” He pleads, kicking his shoes off. “This was not planned and I couldn’t blow it off. And they wouldn’t stop talking…”

“ Timothée , breathe.” I take coffee from his hand and head into the kitchen. “I’m not an infant, you know, I can be left alone for a while.” 

“I know, but I wish I didn’t have to go. With so little time on our hands, I don’t want to waste it on something irrelevant.”

“It didn’t sound irrelevant judging by your note. What was it about?”

“Meeting the new cast members. Like we’re not about to spend the next three months stuck together.” 

“That’s the spirit!” I peek into the grocery bag. “What’s all this?”

“Well, in order to make it up to you I’m gonna make breakfast. And you’re gonna eat it and pretend it’s not shit.”

I snort.

“ Timothée, have you ever touched a spatula in your life? Be honest.”

“Hey! I’m trying to be a nice guy here for once. Why the fuck won’t you just let me?”

“Oh, I’ll let you do anything you want.” I make myself comfortable by the island. “Go ahead.”

  
“Okay, there’s no way you’ve never done it before! Tell me the truth!” I mumble through a mouthful of pancakes.

He simply shrugs, unable to stop smirking. 

“My first time was a disaster.” 

He fake chokes on bacon, his face splitting in a grin.

“With pancakes, you sick bastard.” I roll my eyes in an exaggerated manner. 

“Whatever you say.” 

I kick him with my foot under the table and he kicks me back. It’s childish and silly… and so right. Even with the weight of all the things we have yet to say to each other hovering over us, he’s still the person I feel the most comfortable with. 

Mood changes dramatically once I recall my looming confession. 

“Hey, it might not be the best timing, but there’s something I have to tell you.” 

“Hm?” He merely hums, too busy chewing.

“Elizabeth and I are separated.”

  
If I ever thought I knew what dead silence was, I was wrong.

It’s so quiet I’m afraid I might have suddenly gone deaf. So I need to speak, like,  _ now. _

“We’ve been for a while and managed to keep it low, but we know it won’t take long for people to notice since we’re on the opposite coasts and it’s about to stay this way for the entire summer. So we’ve started telling family and friends.”

He gapes like a stranded fish, struggling to form the words. Once he regains the ability to speak, he says the exact same thing Nick said. And Ash. And my publisher. His ‘why?” sounds different, though. More horrified, I guess, as if I’m going to blame him for ruining my marriage. And to his ‘why?’ I have no decent answer. 

  
_ Because you can only try so hard to fix something that’s clearly not working. _

 

_ Because my wife simply doesn’t deserve having to be stuck up with a guy who’s in love with someone else.  _

 

Instead, I go for a more appropriate ‘Because we’ve been growing into ourselves and while doing it, sadly, grew apart.’

“I’m so sorry.” He says under his breath, face scowled into a painful grimace, his left hand squeezing mine.

“Don’t be. It was a mutual decision, thoroughly thought through. We want to remain friends, respectful and caring for each other, for our children’s and our own sake. I mean, we’ve had a beautiful and happy life together, we kinda owe it to ourselves.”

“Wait,” Timothée clears his throat. “I thought you said separated. Why do you speak like everything is settled?”

“Well, we decided to try three months. If we don’t come around, then everything  _ is  _ settled.”

“Okay…”

“Three months are nearly over.” 

“Oh.”

His mouth falls open again, once the math is done, and eyes are filled with sheer horror,  _ again _ . I would give anything to read his mind right now. 

“Are you saying you split up in March?”  Timothée’s voice trembles as if he’s on the verge of tears. 

“Yes.” There’s no point denying anything. It’s not like I haven’t put it all out on the table for him and it’s not like he hasn’t pretended it had never happened. 

“I really don’t know what to say.” He says sheepishly.

“You don’t have to say anything.” I shrug. “I just told you because it would come out sooner or later, and I’d prefer you to hear it from me, personally, as it is, without any speculations.” 

“What about your kids?”

“The idea doesn’t register in their minds yet, obviously. Good thing, they’re quite used to staying with one of us for a long time, so that’s pretty much covered. The main thing is to envelop them with love and never let them feel abandoned or betrayed. We’ll figure out the rest along the way.”

He takes his time to let everything sink in, his eyes relentlessly scanning my face. After what feels like a lifetime he leans closer over the counter. 

“Is this really happening?” 

Is it me or does he sound... hopeful?

“Yes.” 

“The press is gonna go crazy.”

Of all the things he could say right now, this is the last I’d expect him to.

“Is that what you’re worried about?”

“You’re a Hollywood power couple, it’s their sacred duty to dig up the dirt on you. The more, the better.”

“I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Well, I’m thinking about it and… are you sure it’s good time to be back on Twitter?”

All of a sudden, he’s so mature and reasonably guarded, and all I can think about is the fact that he’s been unconsciously brushing my fingers with his in the softest way possible for an uncertain period of time now.

“Yeah,” I grunt. “Probably, not. Maybe I should follow your steps and go MIA on social media.”

“Or just ignore them to death?”

“Right, cause we all know how good I am at keeping my shit together online.” 

He smiles and shakes his head, his eyes fall to where our palms are still connected. He doesn’t bother to withdraw, and I take it as a victory. Small, but pivotal.

 

The rest of our time goes on fast forward. We talk more, desperate to make up for the time we’ve so stupidly wasted. He promises to thank Pauline properly for her much-needed meddling. I, in turn, volunteer to get in touch with his mother to deliver some gifts and give her the latest update on her son’s well-being. 

“I’m going to the airport with you.” He says matter-of-factly as I zip up my carry-on. I was hoping he would. 

The drive to Heathrow takes longer, traffic is heavy due to the pouring rain. A part of me wants my flight to be delayed, or better cancelled, so that I’d have a solid excuse to stay with him.

Timothée is staring out the window blankly, eyes hooded, lips pursed in a pout. He’s so beautiful in this moment that I hesitate to bother him, but he’s also obviously sad, so I just have to ask.

“Is everything okay?”

He nods approvingly and nudges my shoulder with his head.

“I won’t get to see you on stage.” 

“We don’t know that. You might still make it.” 

“If only at the very end. And I’m talking opening night. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience and I’d want to to be there for you.”

“I’d want that, too.” I sigh quietly.

His thumb brushes softly over the back of my hand, making my stomach fill with butterflies. I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be touched by him, not Elio, him, in an affectionate manner. Now I think I’ve got the idea, and it’s just unfair how a single touch can nearly make you lose your mind. I’m instantly flushed, my breath hitched, skin melting like wax beneath his finger. Heart pounds so fast, I could either soar or die on the spot. 

However, it’s only when I shiver uncontrollably, he seems to realize, or maybe he finally lets himself to finally acknowledge, just how much he affects me.

He says nothing, simply tightens his grip of my hand and places it on his lap.

  
Terminal 3 departure area is heaving with people, so we use the opportunity to stay close. Once the flight status changes to ‘boarding’ he pulls me for a hug and buries his face in my chest. We’ve been touching nonstop over the past 24 hours, still it’s clearly not  enough.

“I’ll miss it.” I rake my fingers through his curls. “Call me right after they shave you, I wanna be the first to see.”

“Nooo.” He groans and shakes my hands off his hair.

“Do you want me to beg? Cause I can start, like, here and now.”

He pulls back, furrowing his brows, face basically screams ‘i-dare-you’.

“Please, Timothée.” I coo as sweetly as possible. “Pretty, pretty please.” 

“Fine!” He hides his face again, this time in the crook of my neck. “But no gloating.”

“Never.” I squeeze him tighter. How am I supposed to let go?

As if reading my mind he gets on his tiptoes and clutches the back of my shirt. We stay like that for god knows how long. Just as I’m finally more or less ready to draw away, I feel the unmistakable warmth of his lips on my throat, an exact replica of my little stunt from last night when I thought he was asleep. His kiss is more defined, though, as if he wants to make sure I know this is absolutely intentional. 

He lifts his head, eyes soft and pleading. The world around us remains insufficient, just a faint background to what really matters, all my senses attuned to him.

 

Right in the middle of never-ending chaos I eventually reach my destination as I kiss him. 

 


	10. a kiss is not enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Did that really just happen?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know where the title is from, don't we?

London. May, 2018.

  
  


*****Armie*****

 

People are roaming around. The voice on the speaker barely pauses between announcements. Everything runs its course. It all stops for me, though, when he kisses me back. 

It’s chaste and sweet, and somewhat cautious, until my tongue meets his halfway, desperate moans escaping both of our mouths. 

We part instantly, gasping, the sense of reality quickly kicks back in.  _ What if someone saw us? What if someone took a picture? Shitshitshit. I just had a kiss of a lifetime and the last thing I want to think now is that I shouldn’t have done it. Because I  _ **_had_ ** _ to do it. If not now, when? _

“I might have just got us into a lot of trouble.” My voice is low and flat.

He looks up at me, his eyes are so full of tender affection, that the raging battle inside me dies down before it even has a chance to start building up.

“You need to go.” He manages to utter. I nod but make no move.

“Go!” He demands, his gaze lowers to my lips, though, and when I lean for one more kiss, he eagerly responds.  _ To hell with it _ , I think,  _ who knows how long it’ll take us to do this again. _

  
  
A couple minutes later, just as I find my seat, my phone buzzes. 

 

Text message ‘Timmy’

_ <T> we are two idiots _

_ <T> why do you have to go? _

_ <T> text me when you land _

 

I can only imagine what’s going on in his head right now.

I quickly reply, switch my phone to airplane mode and get more comfortable. His taste is still on my lips, so I opt for no beverages, trying to savour it for as long as possible. 

 

_ Did that really just happen?  _

  
  


***** Timothée*****

  
I remember my buddy from LaGuardia managed to score some really good weed once and we got so doped, I thought I’d never be able to think straight ever again. Well, I can safely say it was nothing compared to what I’m feeling right now. Natural high beats intoxication  _ just like that _ . 

I get into the car, put ‘Futile Devices’ on repeat and let my mind drift off. Moments from the past twenty-four hours replace each other rapidly: Armie, entering the apartment, his face pale and weary; his belongings around the place: toothbrush next to mine, phone charger on the nightstand, a grey hoodie, tossed on the couch (it took everything in me to not bury my face in it while he was in the shower); our looks, both coy and yearning, and touches...  _ So many touches. _

I know at some point anxiety will creep up on me. After all, we did kiss in the middle of one of the busiest airports in the world, there’s a good chance someone might have recognized us. And no matter what state Armie’s marriage is in, they don’t need that rumour. 

Besides, one kiss (two, actually, but who’s counting) does not change anything. We’re still about to spend the next three months apart, and it’s not one of those moments when the distance is good for you. For all I know, he might just burn out (if he’s burning at all) and I’ll end up driving myself crazy overthinking it. 

By the time we make it back to the city the full weight of what just happened falls on me. I feel like I need to speak to someone: mom, Pauline, Brian. _ Shit _ . Brian. He was never a big fan of my close companionship with Armie. Now he’s going to be pissed. And if he finds out through the social media...  _ Fuck, what if it goes viral? Fuckfuckfuck.  _ If it does, he’ll get on the first plane, come here and strangle me with his bare hands. 

I need to call him. The sooner, the better. The mere thought of it makes my palms sweat, though. 

  
Brian listens very closely to my brief recap of Armie’s visit and our unexpectedly emotional parting. No questions, no interruptions. He’s quiet for a while after I’m finished and I’m mentally preparing myself for the worst.

“Okay,” he finally speaks. “First things first, how much are you freaking out right now?”

“Um… A lot?”

“Stop.”

_ Wait. _

“What?”

“I know you, Timothée.” His voice is soft and untroubled. “You tend to obsess about things, especially when they don’t need to be obsessed about. So I’m asking you to stop, for your own good.”

“What’s going on? Did you not hear what I just told you?” I feel like I’m talking to a therapist, not my agent.

“I did. You and your friend, who also happens to be your married straight co-star, kissed in Heathrow airport. Not the most common situation, but not the end of the world either.”

“WHAT?”

I do the most stupid thing: check the name on the screen to make sure this is Brian and, of course, it’s him but…  _ What the hell? _

“What did you expect?” He chuckles. 

“For you to shout at me, or at least to give me a good earful.”

He sighs and takes his time to respond.

“Tim, you’re just two human beings who lost themselves in the moment. It happens. No need to make a disaster of it. I mean, he didn’t cheat on his wife, did he?”

“No! No, they’ve been separated for a while.”

“Then no real harm done.”

“What about the practical side? I was supposed to keep it low-key, and failed spectacularly.”

“The filming hasn’t started yet, so no contract violation here. The Internet might explode, though, and reporters might go wild which is more of Armie’s problem ‘cause they are gonna harass his family. I’ll give his agent a call after we’re done here.”

“We fucked up, haven’t we?”

“Like I said, it happens.”

“How are you so calm? What happened to ‘What the hell were you thinking?’ speech you give me every time I do something stupid and irresponsible?”

“It looks like you just got the person you’ve been pining after for years. No one expects you to act responsibly.”

_ He knows. He’s always known. _

“Aren’t you the one who’s been trying to separate me from that very person?”

“I didn’t want you to be hung up on someone who’s happy on his own. But if he wants you too… well… that changes everything. Now, I need you two to stay low for a while and let me do my job.”

“Seriously? That’s it?”

“On your part, yes.”

“And what exactly are you going to do?”

“Depends on whether there are any photos or not. If not, I’ll simply ask Armie to post something that would imply he hasn’t left New York for the past 24 hours.”

“And if there are?”

“Then…” He pauses to think. “I guess, we’ll need to up our game a little bit. Get his people involved. Make a public statement, as a last resort.”

“Shit.”

“Timothée, don’t wind yourself up. You’ll be surprised how often problems seem to work out on their own, if you just let them.” 

“I really hope there are no photos.”

“Oh, come on. Just imagine how romantic you two would look!”

_ He jokes. I can’t believe he’s making jokes about it. _

“Yeah, I’m afraid it’s a bad hair day for me, though.”

“Aw, what a shame!” He chuckles. “Okay, I have to go work my magic.”

“Thank you.” 

“Thank me when everything is under control. And Tim…”

“Yes?”

“If it makes you happy, and I have a feeling it does,  _ fucking let it. _ ”

“Will do, sir.”

“I’ll talk to you later. Go have some sleep.”

“Okay. Tell Peter I said hi.”

  
A warm wave of relief washes over me. If Brian says everything’s going to be alright, it will. 

I lay for hours, listening to the muffled night city noises, tracing my lips with fingers now and then. The kiss still lingers. 

 

Is it possible, in this very universe, where I was so miserable just 48 hours ago, that I could actually have him? 

  
  
It’s barely noon and I’m two blocks away from my building when my phone buzzes. I smile instantly, both at the name on the screen and at how different it feels to get a call from him now.

  
_ <T> Hey! _

**< A> Hey.**

_ <T> You’re up early. _

**< A> Yeah, I slept on the plane, so my biological **

**clock is messed up again. Spent the night tossing**

**and turning.**

_ <T> Aw, I’m so sorry. _

**< A> It’s okay. How about you?**

_ <T> The sound of rain and your scent on my pillow _

_ worked their magic, so I slept like a baby. _

**< A> Good. This is good. What have you **

**got for today?**

_ <T> Nothing. I had an early meeting, then _

_ grabbed lunch with a new co-star. It’s still raining, _

_ so I’m definitely staying in. _

**< A> Does the new co-star have a name?**

_ <T> It’s Lily. Lily-Rose, actually. _

**< A> As in, Depp?**

_ <T> Yes. Have you met her?  _

**< A> Yeah, back on set of ‘The Lone Ranger’.**

**She was a baby.**

_ <T> Wasn’t it like 5 years ago?  _

**< A> Whatever. Did you have a good time together?**

_ <T> Um… I guess. We were pretty excited _

_ after the meeting. _

**< A> What got you both so excited?**

_ <T> We finally got our shooting schedules.  _

_ Off to Hungary next Friday. _

**< A> Wait, what is wrong with England?**

_ <T> I don’t know. Apparently, it’s not medieval enough. _

**< A> Okay, isn’t that a little offensive toward Hungary?**

_ <T> Those are not my words, so… _

**< A> Whose, then, Lily’s?**

_ <T> Armie, why do you sound like that? _

**< A> Like what?**

_ <T> Like you’re jealous. _

**< A> Because… I... am...?**

_ <T> Armieeee…  _

**< A> I’m an idiot, remember?**

_ <T> Why would you be jealous of someone  _

_ I’ve literally just met? _

**< A> Because she’s there. And you’re there. **

**And I’m not. And it’s not like I have a right or something…**

**to be jealous, I mean. But jealousy is not**

**the most rational thing, is it? So I can’t really help it.**

**And now I sound stupid and sappy, which is just great…**

_ <T> Stop. Just… stop! _

**< A> I guess, I’m still not sure where we stand, **

**and I, like, really need to know.**

_ <T> Makes two of us. _

**< A> Unfortunately, I can’t come to London again.**

_ <T> And I can’t come to New York. _

**< A> So we’d have to do it over the phone.**

_ <T> So it seems. _

**< A> We could talk right now, if you want.**

_ <T> Um… yeah. Yes. _

**< A>...**

_ <T>... _

_ <T> Okay, someone needs to go fi… _

**< A> I was surprised when you kissed me back.**

**Actually, I was surprised when you returned**

**that kiss from the previous night, first.**

_ <T> Why would I not kiss you back? _

**< A> Why would you? You didn’t respond**

**to that text I’d sent you, after all.**

_ <T> I wasn’t sure what it meant. _

**< A> What else could it possibly mean?**

_ <T>  That you were drunk and lonely? _

**< A> I was drunk and lonely.**

_ <T>  See? _

**< A> Well, a drunk man’s words are**

**a sober man’s thoughts.**

_ <T> You were so wired at the Oscars. _

_ Wouldn’t talk to me all night.  _

_ I wanted to know what was going on with you,  _

_ but figured it would be better not to… _

_ Elizabeth was watching you like a hawk.  _

**< A> She scolded me afterwards for acting**

**like a child. Said if I didn’t do something,**

**anything, I’d lose you. And the best I could think of**

**was drunk texting you in the middle of the night.**

**I’m a genius, aren’t I?**

_ <T> Elizabeth encouraged you to make a move on me? _

**< A> Can you believe it?**

_ <T> No.  _

**< A> Well, she did. So I made that move.**

**And you neglected me.**

_ <T>  And you still got separated? _

**< A> Just because you didn’t act in response **

**doesn’t mean we would instantly go back**

**to where we were.**

_ <T> You could try… _

**< A> Try what? To fall back in love with her?**

**I don’t think that is how it works.**

_ <T> She should be hating me. _

**< A> She doesn’t hate you. Amazingly, **

**she doesn’t hate me either, though,**

**I’ve been a pretty shitty husband for a long time.**

_ <T> I feel like it’s all my fault. _

**< A>  What? The fact that we met? **

**Blame Luca instead, he’s responsible for all this mess.**

_ <T> Armie… _

**< A> I’m kidding. But seriously, don’t beat yourself up. **

_ <T> You’re getting a divorce because of me, _

_ how am I supposed to just be okay with it? _

**< A> We don’t really choose how we**

**feel about someone, do we?**

_ <T> That’s exactly what Pauline said to me the other day. _

**< A> See?**

**< A> If it makes you feel any better, **

**Elizabeth is already seeing someone.**

_ <T> Oh. That was fast. _

**< A> Apparently, he’s been trying **

**to court her for ages, but as a faithful wife,**

**she would reject any attempts.**

**Now, however…**

_ <T> You seem so casual about it. _

**< A> Yeah, I’m kinda more concerned **

**about that new co-star of yours hitting on you.**

_ <T> She’s not hitting on me. _

**< A> How do you know? You didn’t see me **

**pining for you until I literally stuck my tongue**

**down your throat.**

_ <T> Only because I was too busy pining for you.  _

_ And, technically, your tongue never reached _

_ down my throat. _

**< A> I’ll fix it the first chance I get.**

_ <T> That might take a while. _

**< A> I’ll wait.**

_ <T> So, we’re actually doing it? _

**< A> Yes. Definitely.**

_ <T> Holy shit. _

**< A> I know. **

_ <T> I’ve wanted this so much. For so long. _

**< A> For how long, exactly?**

_ <T> Almost two years now. _

**< A> So, since Crema?**

_ <T> Since Crema. _

**< A> The Academy is fucked. **

**You should’ve won that Oscar.**

_ <T> I don’t think I was acting that much  _

_ considering how fast I’d fallen for you. _

**< A> But you acted so nonchalant during the press tour. **

**Like, thanking my wife for letting you… What was that?**

**Crawl all over me? And telling everybody how it is**

**impossible to not fall in love with me? And that**

**‘Sexiest man alive’ shit? Seriously, how do you do that?**

_ <T> Okay, that was hard. But I just couldn’t let anyone know.  _

**< A> So, no one knows? **

_ <T> Pauline does. I told her when I got back from Austin. _

**< A> Why? I mean, what’s changed?**

_ <T> I was in a really bad shape. I was going to talk to you _

_ about that text before the Awards. But you were so…  _

_ overjoyed for some reason. Clearly didn’t seem fucked up to me. _

_ And then there was your mother. I could tell she knew  _

_ how I felt about you the second she saw me. And she pitied me.  _

_ It all felt like a cruel joke and I couldn’t deal with it. _

_ I was so tired of pretending all the time. I just needed a break.  _

_ So I packed my things, came back to New York _

_ and spent a week at my parent’s place, wallowing.   _

**< A> I never want you to be miserable **

**because of me ever again.**

_ <T> I don’t see any reason why I would be _

_ as long as you want me by your side. _

**< A> I wish I had you by my side, like, now.  **

_ <T> This is gonna be a looong summer. _

**< A> We’ll talk every day. And text. And FaceTime.**

_ <T> It’s not fair that now that I can touch you,  _

_ we’re the farthest we’ve ever been from each other. _

**< A> You barely hesitated to touch me before.**

_ <T> Yet I never touched you like I wanted to. _

**< A> Which is?**

_ <T> I’d rather show you when I can. _

**< A> Telling wouldn’t hurt, you know.**

_ <T> Isn’t it too early for that kind of talk? _

**< A> Are you gonna play hard to get now?**

_ <T> I meant literally. It’s like 8 a. m.  in New York.  _

**< A> I wouldn’t mind to start my day on a good note.**

_ <T> Duly noted.  _

**< A> So that’s still a ‘no’?**

_ <T> The thing is, I’ve never really done this. So… _

**< A> Oh, right. I’m so sorry. **

_ <T> What exactly are you sorry for? _

**< A> Rushing you into something you’re not ready for.**

_ <T> I did not say I wasn’t ready. _

**< A> Okay, let’s talk about it some other time.**

_ <T> But... _

**< A> Timothée, I want to do everything right.**

**I want us to feel safe with each other.**

**And do only what we feel like doing. The last thing I want**

**is for you to only do something for my benefit .**

_ <T> It’s not like that, I promise. _

**< A> I believe you. I’m sorry to say that, **

**but I, like, really have to go now. I have**

**an early rehearsal today and I wanted**

**to go for a run before that.**

_ <T> Now I’m picturing you all sweaty and out of breath. _

**A > Goodbye, Timothée!**

_ <T> Can I text you later? _

**< A> You can text me anytime you want, **

**you don’t need my permission.**

_ <T> Wouldn’t want you to get sick of me too soon. _

**< A> You goose. **

_ <T> Bye, Armie. _

**< A> Bye.**

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More on Sunday.


	11. I’m so busy thinking about kissing you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a 'date night'... sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from a song 'A little lost' covered by Sufjan Stevens.

New York. May, 2018.

  
  


*****Armie*****

  
  


“And if it’s too hot, you can blow on it.” Harper purses her lips and exhales exaggeratedly. “Like that.”

Ford looks down at his cup puzzled, probably wondering why on earth would an empty piece of plastic be hot. 

We’re having a private tea party, Hops is sitting on the sofa, hosting the whole thing, her brother and I are on the floor, the room looks rather like a section in a toy store. I’ve got a diadem on my head, Ford is wearing a pair of furry bunny ears, both pink, of course.

Just as I’m about to ask for a refill, my phone vibrates. 

_ <T> can i call you? _

I send ‘Sure’ and get another text. 

_ <T> no gloating, remember? _

I don’t get a chance to reply as FaceTime call comes in.  Timothée  starts laughing as soon as our faces appear on screens. 

“I don’t know if you’re trying to make me feel better but it’s working.” 

He taps the crown of his head and I recall I’ve got Harper’s tiara on. 

“We’re at the royal reception, having tea with the Queen herself.” I pull the headband off, receiving a reproachful look from Hops. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry for interrupting. I can call back later.”

“No way, nuh-uh!” 

“Wouldn’t want to seem disrespectful to the Queen. Besides, cold tea is disgusting.”

“Just shut up and let me look at you.” 

He turns his head to the left to give me a better view,  eyes cast downwards, smile gone right away.

“Okay,” I say in mere seconds. “First, stop chewing your lips before there’s nothing left of them. Second, how come you still look hot?”

He looks up at me.

“Armie, I know I said no gloating but you don’t need to sugarcoat it for my benefit.”

“I’m not sugarcoating anything. You do look disturbingly good.”

“Disturbingly?” He arches his eyebrow, refusing to take my word for it.

“Well, you seem younger, if it’s even possible, than when you had your hair long. And… I feel like I should be alarmed by how much I like you like that.”

“And how much is it exactly?” He looks me straight in the eye, breath hitched, uncertainty still present but slowly giving way to something else, something salacious. 

“A lot.” 

“Good.” Timothée nods, visually pleased. “Though, I’d very much like to hear the details.”

His voice is like liquid honey, he never speaks to me like that, even now that we’re together(ish), but fuck if it doesn’t do things to me. 

“I’ll give you as many details as you want. Later.” 

“Later.” He licks his lips and I nearly howl at the gesture, the whole open flirting thing makes me giddy. 

“So, can I pay my respects to the Queen?” 

I’m almost offended by how easily he’s back to his casual self. 

“Sure. Harper, come say hi to Timmy.” I beckon kids to come closer. “You too, buddy.” 

While Harper bounces in excitement, Ford’s barely making a move, clearly not sharing his sister’s enthusiasm. 

“Hey you!” Timothée exclaims as her face shows up on screen. “I’ve missed you so much!”

Harper giggles at the sight of him. “Why do you look so funny?”

“Oh, that?” He shakes his head. “I’ve grown tired of long hair and asked for a cut, but the barber might have overdone it a little.” 

Hops gasps.

“Will it grow back?” She isn’t laughing anymore, now genuinely concerned.

“I don’t know, sweetie.” Tim sighs exaggeratedly. “I guess, we’ll have to wait and see. So, what’s new with you?”

“We went to the zoo yesterday. I liked big cats and birds with pretty tails.”

“And what did Ford like?”

She shrugs. “Ice cream.”

“Well, who wouldn’t.” Timothée grins. “What are you doing today?”

“Dad has to work.” Harper states with annoyance. “But your mom is coming to play with us.”

“What?” 

“Um… yeah. I was about to tell you.” I shift my phone so that the camera captures my face and get up on my feet. “Harper, can you please look after your brother while I have a word with Timmy in private?”

She nods and climbs onto the sofa, resuming the party.

  
  


“I’m sorry I haven’t told you earlier. I was going to, it just completely slipped my mind.” I rattle once the door to the living room is closed. “We met the other day and she offered to watch them when I’m out for rehearsals. And I wasn’t going to take her up on it, but the babysitter got sick, and I had no time to look for a replacement so I called your mom and she said she’d be delighted. But if it’s too much for you, I can find someone else…”

“Armie, slow down.” He interrupts. “I don’t mind my mom watching your kids, why would I? On the contrary, I’m very happy you’ve got someone to help you, I’m even more happy that this someone happens to be my mother and you trust her enough to do that. She’s actually pretty good with children, I’m sure they’ll have a great time together.”

“It’s just… you looked kinda anxious when Harper told you Nicole was coming.”

“Ah… well. I was surprised my mom suggested that in the first place. I mean, she’s never even met them and now she suddenly wants to babysit.” He furrows his brows and I feel my heart sink at what’s coming. “Armie, what did you tell her?”

“Nothing. Um… She asked about Elizabeth and I told her like it was. I reassured her we split amicably and would remain on good terms. Then she suddenly switched the topic to you, and I didn’t have time to collect myself, and she just knew... I feel like she’d known for a long time.” I pause to gauge his reaction. “Are you mad?”

“No.” Timothée smiles softly. “I just still can’t believe this is happening.” 

“Me neither.”

He looks so fondly, I feel my knees go weak. He’s totally sharing my feelings, I can tell. 

“So, how about those details?” He intimates with a leer on his face.

“I thought we were having a moment here.” I feign offense.

“We were. Didn’t want to miss out on it.”

“My kids are still in dangerous proximity. Wouldn’t want them to catch me in the act.”

“When they’re off to bed, then?”

He’s excessively insistent, which is more than welcomed, and I can’t wait to explore that new side of him. 

“It’s a date.”

  
  
It’s barely 9 p.m. and I’m dead on my feet. The rehearsal was very productive but also  quite exhausting. We did a lot of weird dancing tonight (which I was so happy about, obviously) and it didn’t look that bad from what I could tell.

The kids can barely keep their eyes open by the time I get home, so it doesn’t take long to get them into bed. I don’t even get to finish the first bedtime story, and normally it takes at least two to put them to sleep. I have to ask Nicole about her magical tricks next time I see her. 

I settle on the couch in the living room, the only light source is the muted TV, thinking whether I should disturb Timmy. It’s the middle of the night over there, after all. Greediness wins and before my guilty conscience kicks in, I type  **‘** Are you still awake by any chance? **’** He calls back immediately, sparing me from beating myself up for being overly needy. 

“Hey.” His voice is muffled but quite awake.

“Hey. I wasn’t sure you’d still be up.”

“I couldn’t miss ‘a date’, could I? Whatever you meant by it.”

“Did I mention that I hate the time difference?”

“Just about a dozen times over the last week.”

“Budapest is an hour ahead of London, by the way, which basically means you’ll be up by the time I normally go to bed.”

“Someone’s done their research.” He chuckles, noticeably pleased.

“Of course, I have.”

“Of course, you have.” 

“So…” I feel awkwardness creeping up on me. “How was your day?”

“Seriously? You’ve waited till your kids fall asleep to ask me about my day? Come on!”

I love how his voice screams frustration. 

We’ve been calling each other every night since my return to NY, talking about everything and nothing, always keeping it very PG. Dirty talk remains uncharted territory, but I sense his patience is wearing thin, and I’m more than willing to head straight into it. Besides, I’ve been having such vivid and colorful dreams lately, all including him naturally (it’s like my mind has been given a green light to have actual visuals of us having sex knowing it wouldn’t leave me feeling remorseful afterwards) and I have this physical urge to tell him about it, as if I’m going to die if I don’t. 

_ Take it slow, Armie, you don’t want to scare him off, do you? _

“I’m being a gentleman.”

“Why?”

“Well, you’re the one who’s never done it before after all.”

“Oh, you’re sooo good for me.”

His voice drips with sweetness and it’s more than enough to make my body respond. 

“Could you sound any more sultry?”

“I don’t know. Want me to try?”

“Tim?”

“M?”

“I miss you.”

I’m completely consumed by both physical and emotional need for him, hoping he’d meet me halfway.

He goes so quiet, I can barely hear his shallow breath. 

“Tim?”

“I miss you, too.” 

The atmosphere changes altogether, his voice anguished now as if he’s about to cry.

“It doesn’t even make sense, because I don’t miss you as a friend, I miss you as whatever it is that you are now. And it’s absurd, because you can’t miss something you’ve never actually had, can you?”

“I know what you mean.”

“You do?”

“Yes. And it does make sense. You miss ‘us’. We haven’t got the chance to be it yet, but we have an image, and it’s more than enough to crave it. I miss ‘us’, too. The only thing that keeps me from losing it is the fact that I can finally tell you all this knowing you feel exactly the same.”

“I do. God, Armie, I do. I miss you so much.”

“I know, baby.”

He whimpers at the name like a lost dog at the sight of its owner.

“Timothée, tell me what you need.”

“You. I need you. I haven’t been able to sleep since you left. As if you’ve always been here and are now gone, for some reason.”

“I wish I was there with you right now, in your bed, holding you in my arms.”

“Yes, yes. I want that, too. Still not sure I’d be able to sleep, though.”

“Why not?”

“Would be too busy kissing you.” 

“Just kissing?”

“There’s so much of you. Might take a while.”

“I think about it every night: your lips on me. Everywhere. Claiming. Devouring. Driving me insane.”

“Just to know I could do that to you…”

“You can do anything you want to me. I’m all yours.”

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

“Mine.”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, that feels good.”

_ Speaking about feeling good. _

“Tim, can you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“I want you to touch yourself and think of me.”

“Oh, God, yes.”

“Can you do that?”

“You so don’t need to ask me twice.”

“Good. Take it slow, baby. Very, very slow.”

His breath hitches, a feeble moan escapes as he gasps for air.

“That’s it. Keep going just like that.”

“Can I go faster?”

“Not yet, Timmy. I want to take my time. Will you let me?”

“Yes.”

“Imagine what it’s gonna be like when we’re finally together.”

“What would you do?”

“I would touch all of you, I need to get reacquainted with your body now that it belongs to me.”

“Fuck…”

“I wouldn’t stop kissing you for a second, everywhere I can reach.”

“I feel dizzy when you kiss me.”

“Good. I want you to lose your mind completely, forget anything else exists except for you and me. I know, I do, when you touch me.” 

“Armie… I won’t last long.”

“It’s okay, baby. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Just keep talking please.”

“I want to cover your body with mine, still working you over ever so slowly until you beg for me, baby.”

He’s a sobbing mess at that point but I’m too far gone to stop now.

“I bet you’re gonna look fucking perfect underneath me, with your pretty red lips begging to be kissed and your legs parted… ready for me.”

“Oh fuck… Armie… I’m gonna…”

“Would you want that? Would you let me have my way with you?”

It happens so fast: one second he’s a mess and the next he’s all done for, repeating my name like a prayer.

I don’t get a chance to attend to myself, my still achingly hard cock all but disregarded in favour of Timothée’s pleasure, which somehow doesn’t bother me one bit. All I can think about is that I need to make him feel safe and protected, especially in his current state.

“You still with me?” I lower my voice to a hushed murmur.

“Mm-hmm…”

“Think you can fall asleep now?”

“I could… but… you still haven’t… have you?”

He’s struggling with speaking but wants to return the favour nonetheless. I’m so full of affection I might explode.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m good.”

“No, no, no. That’s not fair.”

“Tim, I’ll take care of myself later.”

“But I want to… help you.”

“Oh, baby, you just came literally chanting my name. That’s all the help I need to get me going.”

“You never called me ‘baby’ before…”

“You like it, don’t you?”

“I love it.”

_ I love you,  _ I want to say but it’s not the time or the occasion. 

He suppresses a yawn and I know I need to let him go.

“Close your eyes, baby.”

“Armie…”

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

  
  
  
Text message ‘Timmy’

_ <T> never slept better in my life _

_ <T> you do realize we’ll have to do it  _

_ every night from now on? _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Year is almost here and I'm equally excited and exhausted. I'm spending some time with my family so no promises on updates until the next weekend.   
> Hope you're all having a lot of fun (or enjoying long-awaited calm, like me). See you in 2019!


	12. maybe tonight I could stop dreaming and start believing in forever and ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are finally together!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from The xx's 'Reunion'.

New York. September, 2018.

  
  


*****Armie*****

 

He sends a single Statue of Liberty emoji as he lands; my mind instantly goes into overdrive -  _ he’s here, in the same time zone, in the same city. Finally.  _

By the second week of summer I’d developed a fear that we wouldn’t make it, that one of us would grow tired of the distance, that he would realize I’m not worth all the trouble or I would go insane with irrational jealousy. Thankfully, those fears never materialized. Furthermore, with the impending reunion we’ve become needier than ever: constantly texting, video chatting everyday, equally desperate for each other. On my birthday I got wasted, called him as soon as I reached my apartment and we had such a mind-blowing phone sex session, with so many filthy little details that I was embarrassed to call him in the morning. He called himself, though, to ask how I was feeling and to tell that we should do everything we’d talked about the previous night when we’re together and sober, more or less. I don’t think I’d ever loved him more...

  
It was decided that his parents would pick him up, he’d spend the day with them and meet me right before the play starts. I struggle through the day, trying all possible and impossible ways to distract myself, but it’s no use. Having him so close, but still out of reach, is sheer torture. I end up heading to the theater two hours earlier, hoping to find something there to take my mind off him.

 

We’re in my dressing room, Josh is showing me videos of his new baby when there’s a light knock on the door. 

“Come in,” I suggest, lifting my eyes off the screen.

The door opens tentatively and he enters the chamber, baseball hat in hand, sweatshirt draped over his shoulders. He looks like Bambi caught in the spotlight. 

“Holy shit!” Josh jumps to his feet. “It’s Timothée Chalamet. Hey, man, I’m a huge fan.”

“Um… hi!” Timmy shakes his hand, eyes wandering between the two of us. “You’re Josh, right? I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Same, same. This guy here wouldn’t shut up about you. We all truly believe he’s in love. Hey, why didn’t you say he was coming?” 

They both turn their heads towards me, my eyes stay glued to Tim. I’m sure if I keep staring at him, Josh will see something he doesn’t need to see yet, but when have I been able to look away from him? 

“I wasn’t supposed to come till the curtain time.” Timothée stutters. “If I’m interrupting, I can leave…”

“No!” 

It comes out way too fierce and abrupt. Bemusement on Josh’s face is quickly replaced by a smirk, I know for a fact he’s gonna give me a hard time later.

“I’m sure you’ve got a lot to catch up on.” He shoots me a cryptic look. “It was nice to meet you, Timothée. I guess I’ll see you after the show?”

Just as Josh makes his hurried exit, Tim crosses the room in two long strides and buries his face in my chest, fingers clutching my back forcefully. 

“Baby…” I murmur sweetly; his grip on my shirt tightens, a muffled mewling cry escapes his throat.

I hook a finger under his chin, lifting it gently, and brush the pad of my thumb across his lower lip.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Oh, for God’s sake…” He groans.

His lips are softer, sweeter and more eager than I remember. I’ve been dreaming of kissing him for months, now that I am, I can’t believe it’s happening. He pulls away and opens his eyes, dark and blurry. 

“Hi.” His face breaks into a wide grin, once the haze dissolves a little.

“Hi.” I smile back, suddenly feeling weak in my knees. 

_ He’s here, in my arms. Finally. Finally. _

“You look different.” Tim’s nudging my chin with his nose.

Overwhelmed by all the feelings circulating through my body, I completely lose control over my face expression. For all I know, I might look like an idiot right now.

“Different how?”

“Serene.” 

_ Just as I thought. _

“It’s the first time I hold you thinking that you’re mine.” 

“How does it feel?” He bites me gently, then pecks the bitten place.

_ How do I tell him? How can I express how I feel when I can’t fully grasp all aspects of my feelings myself? _

So rather than saying anything, I squeeze him hard, so hard I might actually crush him, considering how tiny he is. 

His lips find mine and we resume kissing, this time more passionately, hands roaming each other’s bodies. 

“I can’t breathe.” He whispers at some point. 

_ It’s funny, _ I think _ , cause I, for once, feel like I finally can. _

 

“How come you’re here so early?” I inquire as we’re settled on the coach. The door is locked, just in case.

“My mom kicked me out.”

“Yeah, right.”

He shrugs. 

“I kept checking my phone the entire time I was with them. Mom tried to coax me into a conversation but soon realized it was futile, so she told me to get out and have a good night.”

“Timothée...” 

“What can I do if all I think about is you?” 

Tim’s words crawl into my veins, setting me on fire from the inside. He catches my mood swing instantly; it takes him mere seconds to straddle me, his hands make their way under my shirt.

“How much time do we have?” His breath comes out hotly against my ear. 

“About twenty minutes.” I don’t recognize my own voice, weak, shaky.

“I can work with that.” His eyes light up with pure fire. 

Just as Timothée experimentally grinds his hips against mine, my phone buzzes with the FaceTime ringtone. 

“Saved by the bell.” He sneers and bites my earlobe.

It’s Elizabeth with the kids, calling to wish me good luck before the show (it’s become our daily routine). We chat for a while; Ford repeats new words like a parrot, Harper complains about her mean classmate, Elizabeth quickly fills me in on bakery updates. There’s a faint knock on the door, indicating it’s time to go. I end the call and get up, Timmy hurriedly follows my lead.

“The question is,” I take his hand into mine and lace our fingers, “how am I gonna act, knowing you’re there, watching me?”

“Why is it suddenly a problem?” He stares at me dumbly.

“I’m going to knock myself out trying to impress you.”

“There’s no need to impress me, Armie.” He stands on his tiptoes, lips brushing mine. “I’m already sold.”

 

Signing autographs after the show takes twice as long as it normally does; people are crowding around, inquiring about Timothée’s visit, hoping to get a glimpse of him or even take a photo. When we’re finally ready to leave the  Hayes Theater (he did take a couple of pictures with the most patient fans after all) Josh approaches us, phone clutched in his hand. 

“Okay, I know you’re both tired and probably already have plans,” he rattles at such speed, my mind struggles to follow, “but I might have mentioned to my wife that  Timothée  is here and now she wants all of us to have dinner together. You can say no but she’s going to be very disappointed.” 

He enunciates exaggeratedly, his wife is clearly still on the phone, waiting for our response.  Timothée bounces on the balls of his feet, studying my face carefully. We actually never made any plans, reckoning we’ll figure it out as we go along. 

“Guys, I wouldn’t ask, but we barely go out now, you know, with the baby and all. And she’s dying to meet you,” he aims at Timmy, assuming he’s easier to crack.

 

Of course, we accept the invitation.Timothée spends the evening charming the two of them by simply being himself; I, in turn, focus on my food and wine, hating both, and the restaurant itself, though all of it is more than perfect; regretting saying ‘yes’ to this stupid dinner in the first place, just because it’s not where Tim and I should be right now. We should be at my place instead, or his, finally together, finally alone, making up for the time apart in every way possible. I know for a fact he’s thinking the same, the air between us is charged with a palpable need for each other, but thanks to his outstanding acting skills it stays unnoticed. I write my passiveness off, as Sophie remarks on it, as a result of extremely exhausting week and Timothée says he’s pretty beat too (‘Long flight and a rough day afterwards’). 

On our way to my place he can barely keep his eyes open.

  
“My bedroom is over there. I’m gonna take a quick shower.” I point to the door on the right and watch him drag his feet towards it. From the way he looks, he’s gonna be out before I even hop into the cabin. 

To my surprise, when I make it to the room, he’s sitting up, leaning against the wall, eyes trained on the window. He only turns to face me when I climb on the bed and get under the blanket, his body instantly pressed to mine. Before I know it, he’s pulling me on top of him, his lips wander across my neck. 

“Timmy, wait. Wait.” 

“What?”

“You’re exhausted, maybe we should just sleep?” 

His eyes grow wide and glassy.

“What?” 

“It’s been a long day and I’m sure you’ve had a lot…” I stroke his cheekbone but he shrinks away from my caress. 

“You don’t…” He swallows forcefully and shuts his eyes. “You don’t want me?”

“Baby…”

He retreats further, face twisted with pain. 

Timothée, look at me.”

He doesn’t.

I reach for his hand and press it to my crotch. 

“Still think I don’t want you?”

He looks up, fingers brushing against my quickly hardening cock.

“I just think we should take it slow.” 

“We’ve been waiting for the entire summer. Isn’t it slow enough?” 

“We’re both new to this, I don’t want any of us to get overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed is not bad.”

“Still…”

He scoots closer, hands gliding up my bare wet chest. 

“Armie, I’m almost naked, in your bed, basically begging you, and you’re seriously not gonna do anything about it?”

My resolve crumbles like a house of cards when he bites and tugs on my lower lip, whispering ‘I want you. I want you so bad.’ 

I give in to my primal need to grope, to devour, like a wild creature that I am, hoping that maybe, maybe, that’s what he needs too: to be overtaken, worshiped and feasted on.

“So many nights,” I groan in between kisses, “in this bed. Dreaming about you. Dying to touch you.”

“I’m here now.” He reasons. “So touch me.”

He spreads his legs and I think it’s almost enough to make me come on the spot. Curiously, when my hand travels south, he keeps his eyes open, focused on mine; lids tremble, ever so slightly, as my fingers slip inside his waistband, but don’t close nevertheless. 

“Can I take them off?” I murmur into his parted lips and get a weak nod in response.

Our eyes stay locked as I slide down, pulling his briefs lower, lower and off. He only averts his fiery gaze when his body is fully covered with mine, my fingers running across the leaking head of his cock.

“This might be my new favourite feeling - having you under me.” He whines and thrusts up into my hand, I grasp him firmly. “It may change, though, when I’m finally inside you.”

“Armie..” He squirms so deliciously under me, his cock throbbing in my hand. 

“Or, who knows,” I lick  a wide stripe along his neck, “maybe I’ll like to have you inside me all the more.”

He crushes our lips together, wildly, desperately; his hands, barely participating in action until now, slip into my underwear and grab my ass unceremoniously. Nothing really matters in this moment, all I need is to make him feel good, take him to the edge and tend to him after he’s finished. 

He bites my chest when he comes, which makes me come as well, basically untouched. No wonder, though, it really was a long summer.

I get up to clean us both up. 

“Can you get back on top of me, please?” He mumbles sleepily, his hands doing this childish clutchy thing.

“I’m heavy.”

“You’re perfect.” 

I’m enveloping him instead, trying to find the most comfortable position for us to sleep only to realize he’s already out.

 

“What the hell?” Timothée groans into the pillow. 

My alarm clock rings and makes the entire bed reverberate.

“Time to get up.” I reach for the phone to turn it off, and roll onto my side, nuzzling his hair. “You’ve got a plane to catch in 4 hours.” 

“Do I really have to go?” 

He presses his body into mine in what seems to be quite an innocent manner, but it immediately awakens not so innocent desire inside me. He smells like warmth and sleep, and is so pliant against me that I feel like I just  _ have to _ have him right now. As if knowing what I’m thinking he pushes his naked butt into my groin, eliciting a predatory hiss. 

“Don’t move.” 

“Why?” 

Oh, I know this tone of his. This tone has become the death of me during the summer. 

“Because we agreed to take it slow.”

“I have a plane to catch, remember? Slow is not really an option here.” 

He rolls his hips again, more insistent this time, and it feels  _ so fucking amazing _ . It’s like I’m fifteen again, horny all the damn time, ready to come at the slightest touch. Apparently, it’s not enough for him, cause he turns around in a flash, his hands on my sex, willing and practiced. He works me fast, not a hint of timidity or hesitation. Timothée, usually shy and neurotic, comes to be startlingly enthusiastic in bed. 

“I want you to come all over me.” He commands, speeding up his tempo. 

He’s so hot like that; if he didn’t have to go, I’d probably break my own rules and just beg him to fuck me. 

“Tim,” my mouth is so dry I can barely speak, “can you touch me?”

“I  _ am  _ touching you.” 

“Tim…”

He knows exactly what I’m asking and is more than willing to indulge me. Not a hint of unease whatsoever.

Just as his wet finger presses against my entrance, I come on his stomach. He smears it down his cock and and brings himself off quickly. We lay for a while, catching our breath. 

“I need a shower.” He slips out of bed reluctantly and shuffles to the bathroom. “You stay in bed.” 

I hum in agreement, basically devouring his tiny naked ass with my eyes. 

“Such a horndog.” He shakes his head and laughs happily. “I’m gonna use your toothbrush. You’re not a germaphobe, are you?”

“Have you met me?” 

  
I call a car for him, still lying in bed, while he’s trying to make his hair look less wild. 

“Just wear the cap.” I snicker at his vain attempts.

He climbs on top of me, greedily pressing his lips to my bare shoulder. He smells of my shampoo, my toothpaste, even my cologne, and I think that I want him like this every day from now on.

“This might be the best morning I’ve had so far.” He kisses the bitten spot on my chest. “Even though I have to go. Waking up with you is everything.”

“Better than waking up to being nominated for the Oscars?”

“Absolutely.” 

“Timmy…” I cup his cheek and he angles his head to kiss the inside of my wrist. 

“I’ll see you in less than 36 hours.” He rubs our noses and gives me a peck on the corner of my mouth. 

“Maybe even sooner, if you tell me where you’re staying.”

“Will you sneak in to give me a good luck kiss?”

“Maybe.”

“What about more than a kiss?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll definitely tell you where I’m staying then.”

His car is waiting downstairs, I’m sure, but I just can’t let him go. I think of the day when we’d have to part only to be reunited hours later. 

“Will you miss me?” 

“Do you really have to ask?”

  
  
_ <T> btw this ‘going slow’ thing is rubbish _

_ <T> we’re not doing it _

_ <T> just so we’re clear _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kudos and comments. It's nice to know somebody's still reading it ;)  
> I'll update sooner this time, I promise!


	13. I want you all to myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're in Toronto and the boys are getting into uncharted territory *going slow? never heard of it*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long to update but... well, life happened. 
> 
>  
> 
> The title is from Troye Sivan's 'Animal'.

Toronto, Canada. September, 2018.

 

*****Armie*****

 

I call for a room in the same hotel with  Timothée , no questions asked. Both of us have crazy schedules for the day, the last thing I need is to cross the entire city to spend an hour with him. Still, when I finally reach the hotel, he’s already gone. He even bothers to send me twelve sad faces (yes, I counted) in a row. ‘I’ll see you tonight then’ I reply, missing him like crazy already. How did we survive the whole summer apart?

We exchange texts throughout the day, at some point he stops using actual words opting for his favorite emoji instead which is normally very annoying, but somehow feels quite alright coming from him. Just as I’m about to respond to his last message a text from Elizabeth comes through. ‘ **_He looks GORGEOUS!_ ** ’ words basically scream at me from the phone.  _ What the fuck? _ I go on Instagram and… holy shit! 

Dozens and dozens of pictures of him, posing on the red carpet, looking straight at the camera, smiling, licking his lips, basically being the fucking definition of ‘sex on legs’. Ten minutes later I’m still scrolling through the photos, positively drooling. After a summer of quiet, he’s out there again, shining brighter than ever, and I’m happy for him. Yet, there’s an icky feeling in my stomach, this maniac possessiveness, that’s never showed up until now. I want him all to myself, sharing is really not an option. 

**< A> You’re in so much trouble.**

_ <T> *astonished face* _

**< A> I’m serious, ** **Timothée.**

_ <T> what did I do? _

**< A> It’s more about what you didn’t do. **

_ <T> ??????? _

**< A> You never said you were going**

**to walk the red carpet looking like THAT.**

_ <T> like what? *winky face* _

**< A> Oh, don’t play dumb with me, **

**you know exactly what I mean.**

_ <T> do I? _

_ <T> you think I look cute? _

_ <T> or maybe debonair? _

_ <T> or hot? _

**< A> I’ll show you hot once we’re at that**

**fucking hotel room all alone.**

_ <T> good _

_ <T> can’t wait _

**< A> That was your plan all along, wasn’t it?**

_ <T> things a guy has to do to finally get fucked… _

**< A> Jesus**

**< A> Please tell me you’re not going commando?**

_ <T> *grinning face* _

**< A> ** **Timothée…**

_ <T> btw we’re sleeping in my room tonight _

  
  
  


Crema, Italy. June, 2016.

  
  


“I could say this is just another scene but I won’t.” Luca leans back in the chair.

The day is finished, cast and crew long gone, the three of us still at the villa, reviewing the script for the midnight scene. 

“This is the first sex scene for both of you, right?” 

Timothée arches his brow as I nod and duplicates the gesture.

“So far your chemistry has been impeccable. I want it to stay this way. Talk to each other about how you feel, about the lines you can or cannot cross. I need it to look like you want to touch…”

_ Yeah, that wouldn’t be a problem,  _ I think to myself.

“...and kiss, and make love.”

We go silent for a moment, each mulling this over in his own head. 

“Okay, I’m leaving you to yourselves, boys. Chat, sleep and show up on set tomorrow fully operational.” He pats our backs and waves goodbye. 

“So, I’m your first, huh?” Tim smirks as soon as Luca is out of sight.

“Yep.”

That’s quite an honor.” He rests his chin in his palms and stares right into my eyes. “To be honest, I’m not worried. Like, at all.”

“You’re not?” 

“Nope.”

“How so?”

“Well, it’s you. I feel safe with you by default. Besides, we’re so good together, everything will work like a charm.”

 

He’s right, of course. 

Filming goes rather smoothly, with the exception of two awkward boners (mine stays unnoticed, miraculously so). On the third take of Timothée straddling my lap he kisses me with such force, I fall back, pulling him on top of me. We’re so busy making out, Luca literally has to walk over to separate us from each other.

It’s almost midnight and we’re sitting on the porch, sharing one last cigarette. 

“I’m sorry I got hard, that wasn’t very professional of me.” He’s practically lying on the concrete steps, staring into the low southern sky.

“It’s fine...” I’m too tired to speak, the only thing on my mind is my warm soft bed.

“I just haven’t gotten laid in a long time…”

_ I don’t need to know this... _

“And you are really hot…”

_ Please, stop talking… _

“I just wish it didn’t take me so long to will it away.”

“Maybe you just like me?” I muster up a cheap joke. 

He gawks at me, mouth slightly open, eyes twinkling with something indecipherable. 

“I’m kidding, Tim.” I nudge his ribs and he forces a smile, averting his eyes to the ground.

“I’m glad you were my first.” I mutter as if it’s a secret.

“You are?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why?” 

“Because in an old-fashioned way I believe your first time has to be with someone you like. And I really,  _ really like you. _ ”

His face splits into a cheshire grin.  _ Ah, Timmy, if only you knew. _

 

Toronto, Canada. September, 2018.

 

By the time I arrive at the SoHo House, the party is in full swing. There’s a lot of familiar faces, but my eyes are looking for a very particular one. I find him minutes later, on the second floor in the company of a co-star from last-year’s project. They’re talking, exchanging sweet smiles, her hand lying casually on his shoulder. 

Another wave of jealousy rolls over and into me, blinding and deafening me on the spot. All I want to do is to grab him by the hand and take him far far away. Or kiss him right in the middle of the room so hard he’ll have to clutch me to stay on his feet. Or basically do anything that’ll make it as clear as day to everyone that he is mine. 

_ What the fuck is wrong with me?  _

“What took you so long?” His mellow voice jolts me back to reality.

“I’ve been working, too, you know?” I turn to face him, making every effort to act normal.

He looks even better in person. There’s this wet glint in his eyes that cameras failed to capture. Maybe he’s been drinking. Or maybe he’s drunk on all the attention. 

_ Maybe he’s just really happy to see me? _

“I know, I’ve been keeping tabs on you.”

“Have you?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t do the same.” He comes so close, I can feel his hot breath on my neck. “I want to kiss you so badly.” 

There it is again, this twinkle in his eyes. 

“How long are we staying?” 

“I don’t know. We can’t leave together anyway…”

“Oh, we  _ are  _ leaving together.” I cut him off. 

“But…”

“Non-negotiable.”

Just as he opens his mouth to protest, I lean towards him, eyes set on his lips. He swallows visibly, struggling to keep the distance. 

“Half an hour.” He breathes out the words straight into my mouth.

“Half an hour it is.”

  
  
“I don’t want to stop, but we have to leave the elevator at some point.” Timothée pushes me away, his husky voice thunders in the confined space.

I groan, readjust myself in my pants and push the ‘open doors’ button.

As soon as we’re in his room, he’s all over me again, whiny and needy. 

“Armie,” he cries barely breaking the kiss. “Please, please.”

Whatever he’s asking for, I’m willing to give it to him.

His jacket, as much as I like it, ends up tossed on the floor, joined by his t-shirt in mere seconds. Half-naked, he’s pinned against the wall; I slowly sink on my knees, leaving a trail of wet kisses along his torso. We keep our eyes locked as I unlace his boots and unzip his trousers; only when I pull them down and suck a patch of skin right below his navel, he squints, his whole body shudders at the contact. 

“Take me to bed.” He pleads.

He weighs nothing in my arms, as if made of thin air. 

Once beneath me, he starts shaking like a leaf, arousal definitely not the only reason. “I’ve got you,” I whisper in his ear, rolling off him, “I’ve got you.”

“No,” he whimpers. “I want this, I just… I guess I’m just over-excited.”

“It’s okay. We’re taking it slow, remember?” 

“I don’t want to take it slow. I want you.” 

He might sound resolute, commanding even, but his eyes, like a cornered animal, betray him. So instead of taking my clothes off, I kiss him, slowly and cautiously. We kiss for God knows how long until he noticeably relaxes, his tenacious fingers making their way under my shirt and then onto my back, then lower, grabbing my butt to press us closer together. I put my hand between us and stroke him a couple times, then bring it to my mouth and lick his precum off my fingers, staring him right in the eye. 

“Kiss me.” He hisses. And I do. Instead of lips, though, I aim for his neck, then lower and lower. Kiss all the way down to his abdomen, never breaking eye-contact. Position myself between his legs and give his cock an experimental lick. He gives a faint nod as a go-ahead and falls back, arching his back in the most catlike manner.

It’s awkward and sloppy in the beginning, just like the first blow-job is expected to be, until I find the rhythm and position that works for me. His scent is so strong and so intoxicating, I can’t stop inhaling. Thankfully, the voice in the back of my head (barely audible by now) reminds me to breathe, so I breathe. In, out. In, out.

He’s the most responsive lover I’ve ever had, that much is clear right away. His face and body are so eloquent, I don’t even need to ask him how it feels. He keeps me posted, nevertheless, moaning relentlessly ‘so good, so good, so good’.

And I have to agree with him, it does feel good. I mean, I knew I’d enjoy doing anything with him because, well, it’s him, but my expectations have nothing on reality. Giving him pleasure drives me crazy with desire. 

When he comes in my mouth, a familiar greedy feeling makes a comeback, prompting me to suck every last drop out of him. Still, it’s not enough. I pull up, kissing and biting every bit of skin I can reach, crushing him with my weight. I’m so turned on, I can’t see straight, much less think. He must be getting the message, as the next thing I know, he’s finally helping me out of my suit and sliding down the bed. 

“I’ve wanted your cock in my mouth since the moment I saw it.” He brushes his lips against the fabric of my boxers. “Pretty weird desire for a straight guy, I have to admit.”

He’s disarmingly forward in his post-orgasmic bliss.

“I bet you taste even better than you smell.”

I love this about him. He looks so innocent and pure and then he opens his mouth and…  _ Oh. My. God.  _ The moment his lips close around my cock, I stop breathing. 

There’s uncertainty at first, but soon enough his habit of giving himself completely to whatever it is that he’s doing in the moment takes over, and fuck if I’m not grateful for this thing of his. Somewhere in the back of my mind there’s a thought that he’s very good at this, suspiciously good, but I shove it even further, focusing on my quickly approaching orgasm. 

 

He’s stroking my hair, his lips brushing against my temple, when I open my eyes. I must have blacked out ‘cause I don’t remember us getting under the duvet. I don’t remember anything at all after he forced my cock all the way down his throat. I don’t even remember how I came. 

“There you are.” He pecks my cheek in a strikingly innocent manner.

“I’m sorry I passed out.”

“I thought it was a good sign.” 

“It is.”

He kisses me deeply and languidly, our tongues taste of each other. It’s like sharing some dark secret and keeping it locked up forever.  _ I would share everything with him,  _ I think and laugh at my sudden sentimentality. 

“What time is your flight?” Timothée lays on top of me, head tucked under my chin. 

“12 p. m.” 

“We should get some sleep.” He sighs heavily and rolls off me. 

“Is everything alright?” 

“You’re here,” he kisses my shoulder one, two times. “But I already miss you.”

“We’ll see each other in, like two days.”

I know perfectly well what he means but I just can’t go there. Not while we’re still here, together, our bodies and souls entwined. 

“But you’re leaving for LA when the play is done.”

“No, I’m not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I talked to Elizabeth and she agreed to bring the kids over. So I’m staying in the city for now.”

“How long?”

“A week at least. Then I’m heading to Italy.”

“So we can spend the whole week together?”

“Yes. If you don’t mind the company of two high-energy kids.”

“I’m a high energy kid myself, in case you haven’t noticed.” 

I let out a half-hearted laugh, my brain already projecting visions of the four of us going for a walk in autumnal Central Park. My daughter grabbing Tim’s hand, a bouquet of multicolored leaves clutched in her fist; Ford in my arms, rattling gibberish, making us all giggle. It seems surreal, like an image from a TV show, perfectly shot and edited. 

I drift off with that picture in my head and dream about family weekends, filled with laughter and warmth, and pure bliss. Im my dream, though, we’re accompanied by another little one, looking and sounding exactly like Timothée.

  
  
  



	14. In the night, in the darkest of dark we are bright, we are holy fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big shoutout to redenodersterben, my amazing proofreader, for sorting out my mess and giving me the most inspiring feedback. 
> 
>  
> 
> The title of the chapter is from a song 'Heaven' by Savoir Adore.

New York. September, 2018.

  
  


*****Armie*****

  
  


The closing night is wild. It’s two hours after the curtain call and we’re long done with signing but the crowd isn’t getting any smaller. One more picture, one more autograph, one more pep talk. Josh’s wife is tugging on his sleeve impatiently, casting pointed looks at my side. She’s spent the entire evening trying to persuade me to have dinner with them. ‘You can’t stay alone on the closing night,’ she said. Little did she know, Timothée has been waiting for me in a car one block away this whole time. 

I am definitely not spending this night alone. 

“Hey.” He looks up from his phone as I join him in the backseat. “Can we get some food? I’m starving.”

He got back from Toronto a couple of hours ago and rushed to meet me with a quick stop at his apartment. 

“Sure. I made a reservation for us. We’re a bit late, but I don’t think it’s a problem.”

“You did what?” He stares at me, mouth open.  _ God, I need to kiss him. Like, now. _

“I got us a table at the place nearby. It’s nothing fancy, but really safe from what I’ve heard. As in, the staff only mind their own business. Plus, Luca said the food is to die for.”

“Are you sure it’s a wise move for us to have dinner together?”

“Why not? We’re friends, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” His fingers brazenly run the inseam of my jeans. “Really, really close friends.”

I shut my eyes as he presses the heel of his palm to my balls. 

“I missed you so much.” He whispers hotly in my ear. 

It takes everything in me to not blow the dinner off and change direction to my place instead. 

 

“What’s up with you?” I raise my head to meet his incredulous look.

We’re at this tiny hidden restaurant; the owner (who looks exactly like Stanley Tucci) happened to be Luca’s old friend so he has kindly provided us with a semi-secluded booth on short notice. 

“What do you mean?” I put the menu aside and take a sip of water. 

“You just had your last show on Broadway, for now, of course, and… I don’t know, I was expecting you to be emotional, maybe a little sad, incessantly gushing about it. But you seem… cool.”

“I am. I mean… I’m gonna miss it, obviously. But a part of me is happy the play has come to an end, because as amazing as it was, it’s also extremely exhausting. Like, I want to have a quiet week with my kids without having to leave them with a babysitter every night. I want to spend an entire day in bed with you or, better, a weekend, just sleeping and talking and…”

“And?” Timmy shoots me a daring glance, licking his lower lip. Such a cheap trick but somehow it always works on me. 

“Oh, you know, doing this and that.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what it means.” He rests his chin on his hands, batting his eyelashes at me innocently. 

“It means sex, Timothée.” I announce, ruining his game altogether. 

“So you’re actually planning on fucking me at some point?” He’s not even trying to lower his voice. Thank God, our table is tucked away in the corner.

“As a matter of fact, I was planning on doing it tonight.” I reach for my glass nonchalantly.

He swallows hard, eyes wide like saucers. 

“If you don’t mind, of course.” 

“I’m not hungry anymore.” He states as soon as he regains his ability to speak. 

“Well, too bad.” I shrug. “Cause I am.”

I go back to the menu, though, words and pictures make little to no sense to me right now.

“Can we at least skip the desert?” 

  
Half an hour later it’s crystal clear that no matter how hard we try to keep our conversation sexually uncharged, we fail miserably on every level. Another half an hour later we leave the place after praising in our broken Italian the owner, who won’t let us go until we promise to come back to try his ‘special tiramisu’ (we did skip desert, after all). 

“Did you call a taxi?” Timothée basically pushes me outside, excitement oozes from his pores.

“Not yet.”

“Why?” 

I grab him by the hand and drag around the corner into a blind alley we passed by on our way to the restaurant. It’s not really safe, but it’s a dead end, so it’s unlikely to be of interest for anyone, plus it’s too dark for a random passerby to notice a couple making out. 

“Armie, what are you doing?” Tim breathes as I lure him into the niche. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” My lips trace the vein on his neck, hands busy holding him down. Not that he puts up that much of resistance, though.

He hisses when my teeth scrape over his pulse point.

“You’ll leave a mark.” 

“Oh, I intend to...”

“I have a lot of public appearances coming up.” He mumbles but tilts his head back nevertheless, granting me more access. 

“I so don’t care.” I bite into his skin like a starving man.

“Fuck, Armie.” He growls and his whole body jolts against me. “We might get caught.” 

I merely hum in agreement, fully focused on unzipping his fly. It’s so dark, I have to do it by touch, my fingers tremble, whether from nerves or anticipation I’m not sure. He doesn’t try to bat my hands off, or protest in any other visible way. There’s uncertainty in his voice, and his entire posture, but that I can deal with. 

“You like the idea, don’t you?” 

“Yes.” I finally manage to undo his pants.

“You’re a pervert.” He says with gusto, licking his lips, eyes trained on mine. 

“Maybe.” I let my fingers skim the outline of his straining cock. “I’ve never done this actually.”

“Why?” His voice falters.

“No one seemed to share my interest…”

“What makes you think I do?” 

“Nothing.” I pull back to have a good look at him: mouth parted, breath hitched, eyes all pupils. 

“But it looks like there’s no way back for you.”

He kisses me with such passion, I can barely keep my balance, his hands work on my jeans and underwear with lightning speed. He aligns our erections together, wrapping his long delicate fingers around, I cover his hand with mine. We stroke ourselves, never breaking the kiss; the possibility of being caught in the act somehow adds to it. It’s quick and sloppy and exactly what we both need right now.

Once it’s over, we laugh and press our foreheads together. I feel young and giddy and utterly in love.

  
  


*****Timothée*****

  
  


He starts tearing off my clothes as soon as we step into his apartment. Not trusting my trembling fingers I’m not trying to help, instead I surrender myself to him completely, like I’ve wanted for so long. 

Is this even normal to have this carnal desire to simply give in, to let him make me fall apart just so that he could put me back together and transform me into this new version of me that works for him only? Probably not, I think. Because what am I gonna do when he’s done with me?

My worries dissipate into thin air, though, the moment he picks me up and carries me into his bedroom. Who cares what’s gonna happen later? We’re here now. That’s all that really matters. 

He kneels between my legs, parting them wide, my body on full display. Suddenly acutely aware of how skinny and pale I am, I need to cover myself. Preferably, with his body. Armie catches my distress immediately, stalling his moves and leaning closer, concern taking over his face.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” I shake my head vigorously. “Just… Just tell me you want this. That you’re not only doing it for me.”

“Baby…” 

_ God, I love when he calls me that.  _

“You’re so beautiful and so so  sexy. You’re all that I want. I still can’t believe you want me too.” 

His hands travel up and down my body as he kisses me slowly. “ Timothée …”, he moans against the mark on my neck from earlier in the evening, “I really need to be inside you.”

Armie’s following actions leave me with a weird impression that he’s done it before, for he seems to know precisely what to do. He’s excruciatingly slow and thorough - it feels like he just knows how and where I need to be touched. Soon I’m so gone, I can’t comprehend what he’s saying to me.  It takes three attempts to make out the words. 

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

 

It might as well hurt. Though, at this point, I’m not sure about anything I’m feeling except one thing. _This is love._ I just know it. _Everything inside and around me._ _He is love._ I want to tell him but I can’t remember how to talk. Once he starts moving I forget how to breathe as well. It’s too much, but I still want more. With him I’ll always want more. He goes a bit faster and we both sound like we’re about to suffocate to death but neither wants to slow down. Our eyes stay locked the entire time until he thrusts harder and my whole body arches to meet his, my head falls back and eyes close inertially. 

“No. Look at me.” Armie demands, keeping a steady pace. I force myself to open my eyes. “Look at us. Do you feel how amazing we are together?” 

I merely nod, wondering how is he doing it. How is he kissing and touching me in all the right places and putting just the right amount of pressure to make me enjoy it without even a hint of discomfort? It’s like he can read my mind.  _ Maybe he can?  _

“God, Tim, I…” He gasps for air. “I can’t… I’m gonna…”

His thrusts falter as he strengthens his grip on my cock, determined to get us both there simultaneously. Just as I’m about to climax, he pushes deeper, squeezing me tight, and echoes ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’, and it’s more than enough to send me over the edge.

 

“Timmy… baby, please, talk to me?” My ears are still full of white noise, his voice is distant and thick with despair.

“Hm?”

“Did I hurt you?” He’s hovering above me, eyes filled with pain.

“What? No? Why do you even think about that?” 

It takes him a moment to respond.

“ Timothée, you’re crying.” 

I reach up to touch my cheek and feel the wetness of tears on my skin.

“Baby, it’s not that, I swear.” I place sloppy kisses all over his face. “I guess, I got a bit overwhelmed, just like you predicted.”

“I knew it was too much too soon.” He falls onto his back with a groan, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Armie, it’s not like that.” I roll on my side, leaning closer. “Hey, look at me. It was everything I wanted.”

He’s not convinced, that I can tell, so I force him to face me.

“It was perfect.” I mutter between kisses. “You were perfect. I never thought the first time could be so…”

“Perfect?” He smirks bitterly.

“Yes.”

Both his gaze and his touch exude so much tenderness as he strokes my cheek. I’m having a  déjà vu from filming the midnight scene - the moment before they give each other their names. He looked at me exactly the same back then and my heart broke a little because I was absolutely sure he would never look at me with such fondness outside his character.  _ I was so wrong,  _ I think happily. 

“Armie?” 

“Mhm?”

“Did you really say you loved me?”

“Uh. I’m so sorry about that.” He covers his face with his hands.

“What?”

“I was not gonna say it for the first time during sex, it’s such a  cliché.” He rubs his eyes and gives me an apologetic smile. “But it felt so right in the moment that I just couldn’t not say it.”

“So you meant it?”

“Of course, I meant it…”

“I love you too.” 

He blinks at me one, two times. 

“It can’t come as a surprise,” I shrug, “but it’s nice to tell you nonetheless.”

“Say it again.” He swallows, his gaze lowers, focusing on my lips. 

“I love you.” I lean closer and kiss him softly. “I love you so so much.”

He rolls me over with a primal howl and covers us both with a blanket, separating from the world outside.

  
  


“Okay, I have to ask.” I still have trouble catching my breath after our post- ‘I-love-you’ make out session.

“Shoot.” 

“How did you know what to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“Well…” He rests his chin on my chest. “It’s not really rocket science... And I might have done a little research.”

“A research?”

“Looked up a couple things online. That’s what the Internet is for, right?”

I can’t help but hoot with laughter.

“What’s so funny?”  He frowns.

“I googled how to give a blowjob.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.” I shake my head affirmatively. “You’re clearly harder to please than I am, as I have very limited experience in the matter, but I wanted to make it feel really good for you.”

“You did. At some point I started wondering if I was really your first.”

“Oh, definitely. I’ve never been attracted to other men anyway.”

“Good. Cause you’re mine now and I hate sharing.” 

“Armie,” I wrap my arms around him and kiss the top of his head. “This is definitely not something you should be worried about.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: They do use protection - it just didn't feel right to mention it.   
> Also, I wasn't planning for them to say 'the words' like that... it just sort of happened. 
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter might my favourite so far. Stay tuned.


	15. the only flaw, you are flawless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have a real date night. Finally!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said previously, this chapter is my favorite. Hope you all love it too.
> 
>  
> 
> The title is from 'Flawless' by The Neighbourhood.

San Sebastián, Spain. September, 2018.

  
  


***** Timothée*****

 

Navigating a new relationship while doing a promo tour turns out to be even more exhausting than maintaining it long distance. At least in summer we were stuck in certain time zones, now, however, we hop from one coast to another, basically living on board airplanes. Short clandestine rendezvous are not nearly enough. Nor are lingering stares exchanged across the room when we happen to attend the same event, or desperate kisses, stolen behind closed doors. They only add to a perpetual state of longing, leaving us both lovesick and continually craving for more. 

 

“I want to take you on a real date.” Armie declares in the dead of night.

We’re lying in bed in a rented apartment, the sound of the restless sea comes through the open window. We’re naked and sweaty, pressed close together nevertheless, a sporadic breeze washes over our bodies from time to time. 

“Oh? What did I do to earn it?” 

“Well, you’ve worked so hard.” He nibbles my shoulder. “I feel like you deserve a reward.”

I snort with laughter. 

“To be honest, I’m feeling fairly rewarded as we speak.”

“Seriously, Tim. We’ve been together for months but never got the chance to have a classic first date.”

“I don’t think we can have a ‘classic first date’, considering our situation.”

“Here we can. We’ll find a tiny place where nobody speaks English or knows who we are and will have a lovely dinner, talking, laughing and kissing, without feeling like there are targets on our backs.”

The idea is very tempting, but I don’t want to push our luck - his very coming here was more than enough.

 

After spending a week in New York together, separation felt like torture. Seeing him off at the airport, I was literally on the verge of tears; Armie tried to look composed, smile and even joke, but failed miserably. Two days later, just as I arrived to San  Sebastián, he called and said he couldn’t sleep without me. ‘If only you could come here…’ I replied. On the following day he did. Asked his publicist to come up with an excuse for his sudden leaving and traded Italy’s fashion capital for the stunning view of Bay of Biscay. 

‘You must really love me’ was all I managed to utter before he pulled me inside the apartment and shut the door behind me with much more intensity than was needed.

Now he asks me out and I feel like I should be over the moon, but my good sense just won’t let me. Everything has been running unbelievably smoothly, given our circumstances, so I live in a state of holding my breath, afraid to exhale for fear of bursting our happy little bubble that we’re so comfortable in. 

  
“I want that, Armie, I do.”

“But?”

“I’m so fucking scared.”

“Scared?” He lifts himself on his elbows, astonished. “Of what?”

“I don’t know. Losing you?”

“Why would you lose me?”

“I feel like if we’re not careful, our recklessness might just blow up in our faces.”

“We’re not reckless, we’re in love.”

“Jesus, I’m dating a sap…”

He’s on top of me, fast as a snake, pinning my hands above my head, forcing his knee between my legs. “I’ll show you a sap.”

“Fuck, I love when you’re like this.” 

“Say yes.” He lowers his full weight on me and it feels so good I can’t help but moan. “Please. Just say yes.”

  
Judging by how easily he comes up with a place, he must have found it before he even landed in  Hondarribia. It’s a tiny family restaurant, owned by a couple of native Basques, both speaking very little English. We’re seated on a secluded terrace, a faint flowery scent waters down the sharp salty sea air. The evening is quiet, warm and essentially perfect. Armie looks so good I want to cry. 

“I have to warn you, though.” I open the menu, Google Translate on standby. “I have a rule to not have sex on first dates.”

“Duly noted.” He half-covers a smirk on his lips, eyes trained on the first page of the folder.

“I’m serious. After all, it was you who wanted to do it right, wasn’t it?”

“I won’t touch you, I promise. Unless you beg me to.” 

We both know full well I will.

 

“First time you kissed a guy?” He reclines, spinning a glass of wine in his hand.

“I was 17. After a couple of miserable attempts at dating girls I thought that maybe I was into boys instead. Lack of attraction should have been enough to prove otherwise, but I was kinda desperate. So it became my new mission in life - to explore the field, so to speak. Exploration came to an abrupt end at the very first ‘test subject’. Kissing a boy felt wrong on so many levels, I could practically see red flashing lights in my head with a sign ‘Error’. At least, I chose the guy well. He turned out to be very kind, and gay, by the way, and told me it was fine to question myself, as way too many people end up miserable just because they opt for what feels right and simple.”

“So you didn’t like it?”

“Nope.”

“Maybe he wasn’t your type?”

“Armie, I was a horny teenager, I didn’t have a type. Still didn’t work for me.”

“Okay.”

“What about you? When was your first time?”

“Freshman year in college. It was, like, my second party as a student. I made the mistake of  wearing a really tight shirt. Some guy approached me and offered a drink. I naively believed he was just being nice so I took it. Next thing I know, he shoves his tongue down my throat. Literally. Probably, the worst kiss I’ve ever had. I still have an issue with my co-stars being too invasive.”

“Ew. That’s awful.” I cringe at the thought of someone being forceful towards baby Armie. “Thinking back now, I might have been just that.”

“What?”

“Invasive. Over-enthusiastic. When we were doing midnight scene, I got so worked up, I forgot we were filming.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember. You were so embarrassed that you’d got hard.”

“Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to describe how I felt.”

“You were so caught up in your own mess that it escaped your attention that I was hard as well.”

“Whaaaat?”

He shrugs and takes a gulp of his wine. 

“What the fuck, Armie? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, you wrote your ‘reaction’ off as a result of a really long dry spell, but what would have been my excuse, huh?”

“Um… yeah, I guess you’ve got a point here.”

“I’ve never wanted anyone like I wanted you.” He says quietly. “And it scared the shit out of me.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” I reach for his hand and bring it to my lips for a light kiss. 

“Okay, moving on.” He blinks away the sadness in his eyes. “First time you got stoned.”

“Oh, this is a good one.” I rub my hands together. “I was hanging out with a friend at his place and we found some of his older brother’s hash. We were pretty wasted by then so we figured it was an excellent idea to try it and, spoiler alert, it wasn’t. Next morning I woke up at home, having no idea how I got there, with the worst headache ever and mouth so dry I couldn’t even open it. When I finally made it out of my bedroom, my dad greeted me with the weirdest impish smirk on his face. My mom merely inquired about my well-being and asked if I was going to finish my sandwich. Puzzled, I shrugged and strode to the kitchen to get a glass of water, my parents’ feeble laughter following and growing in strength by the second. Turned out, the night before I had put peanut butter and jelly right on top of the kitchen table, covered it with a toast and left it like that. Good thing, I didn’t try to eat it…”

“You must have been so hungry.” Armie snickers. “I know I always am after smoking weed.” 

“My turn. What’s the most stupid thing you’ve ever done?”

“I made a bet with Nick that I’d dance naked on Santa Monica Boulevard.”

“Did you win?”

He’s flushed in an instant, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so embarrassed.

“Armie?”

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

“Oh my god!” I gasp and cover my mouth. His face turns even redder. “I need details, now.”

“We were drinking and he said I didn’t have balls to do something really crazy. And you know how I am with dumb challenges. The worse, the better. So, I was free to pick the place and time, but… it’s LA, people are around all the time... It wasn’t even a dance if I’m being honest, but whatever it was, it was horrible, painful and supremely sobering. Nick nearly wet himself from laughter. Maybe he did, I don’t remember. What I do remember is that Elizabeth wouldn’t talk to me for a week after she found out.”

I’m not sure if it’s the best or the worst story he ever told me. 

“When was that?”

“About three years ago.”

“You mean, you were 29 when that happened?”

“28, but yeah. Frontal lobe issues, all that. Sure you wanna deal with me?”

“Oh, absolutely. You’re hot, witty and insane, just my type.”

“You’ve got a type now, huh?”

“Don’t you?”

“Let me think about it…” He taps his fingers on his chin. “I like sassy smart-asses, who have the filthiest mouths and brains conveniently hidden by their ever so innocent looks. They are very rare things, though, like one in a billion.”

“You should hold on to them, when you find one.”

“I feel like I’ve found mine. Now all that’s left is to make sure he’s not going anywhere.”

 

“God, you’re so hot.” I squeeze his ass through his jeans while he’s struggling with the door lock. “And you smell so good, I wanna lick every inch of your body.” 

“That you can do.” He manages to open the door and motions for me to come in. “But no sex.”

“Oh, come on!” I move past him with a groan and turn around to press him to the wall once he’s inside. “Are you really going to play that card with me now?”

“ A rule is a rule.” 

“Who’s a smart-ass now?”

“No, but seriously, I was hoping we’d do a bit more of talking. I still have a couple of questions left.”

“Fine. But then we fuck.”

“You’re such a romantic,  Timothée.”

“So, what did you want to ask me about?” I crawl into bed and make myself comfortable by his side.

“I want to know when this…” he motions his hand between us, “happened.”

“You mean, when I started to develop feelings towards you?”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t know.” I say honestly. “All I know is I felt pretty Elio-ish from the very start. As in, I couldn’t read you. You were always so different: one minute you’re full of buoyant energy, and the next you’re cagey and dismissive. You were sharp when you talked to the crew, but then your daughter was on the phone and you were so so sweet, it made my teeth ache. The thing is, Elio had Oliver’s bathing suits to read his mood from, and I didn’t have anything.”

“But I never mistreated you!” Armie looks and sounds offended. 

“No. But you did treat me like a child sometimes.”

“Like when?”

“Like when I got wasted and you took me to your place.” I remember that night like it was yesterday. I drank so much hoping it would help me to hook up with someone, but the more I consumed, the more I wanted him, and him only. 

“What did I do wrong?” He frowns, his arms folded in a protective manner. 

“You made me sleep in your bed, undressed me and literally tucked me in. Oh, and you brought a glass of water for me, and an aspirin. Such a mother hen.” I roll on my back, staring at the ceiling, willing unwanted tears away. “I was so angry with myself the next morning.”

“Why?”

“Because you were being a good friend, taking care of me. And all I wanted was for you to stop being good for a minute and just touch me… or do anything to bring me out of my misery. I think, my self-hatred level reached its peak at that point.”

“Timmy…” He wraps his arm around my waist and nudges my shoulder with his forehead. “I wasn’t being a good friend, I was acting like a man who had just realized he was in love with his co-star.”

“What?” 

He couldn’t have fallen in love so fast.

“It was like the third week of filming?”

“Yes.” He murmurs and kisses a patch of skin below my ear. 

“When you do that, I forget how to talk.” 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to distract you.” He withdraws promptly, leaving me hot and bothered, and all for nothing. “Where were we?”

“You said you fell in love with me in less than a month.”

“Right. It wasn’t all of a sudden, though. I knew I was attracted to you, but that night I felt an overwhelming urge to take care of you. Later, when you were sleeping by my side I was busy listing all the reasons why it was wrong in my head, making plans for what to do next. I was going to distance myself from you, ask Elizabeth to come and stay until the filming ended.”

“But you didn’t do it?”

“No. I figured it might have sabotaged the filming process and that wasn’t an option, so I decided to just let it be instead. And I have to admit, it was a good decision, although I felt like I was dying a little inside every minute I was around you.”

“I’m so sorry, baby.” I curl by his side, kissing his neck and chest softly. “I wish it hadn’t been so hard.”

“I’m guessing it wasn’t easy for you either?” He strokes my cheekbone gently.

“You could say that.” I sigh heavily. Even now reliving those days rekindles dull pain in my chest. 

“Falling for a married person was the most cruel and self-destructive thing I’ve ever done. And trust me, I had plenty to choose from. It’s like entering a battle, knowing that you’re gonna lose. But you’re going anyway without a tiny bit of hope you might actually win, because for some reason, you have to; because somewhere in your wicked mind you enjoy being hurt.

I thought I was never going to have you, but it wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the fact that I didn’t even have the right to want you in the first place.” 

“You have me now.” He hums into my ear, his voice ringing with tears. 

I find his lips with mine and kiss him slowly, feeling my eyes start watering again. 

“I’m still afraid I’m going to wake up at some point and realize it was just a dream.” It’s a  cliché, but it doesn’t make it any less true.

“Soon we’ll be waking up together every day. Maybe that will help you to get used to the thought that dreams can be real too.”

“I can’t wait.”

Armie rolls me on top of himself, grabbing my ass to pull me closer. Our semi-hard cocks touch and, just like that, anguish is instantly replaced by blinding desire. 

“I guess, we’re done talking?” I brush our lips together, not giving in just yet.

“For now.”

“Good. I might think of something better to engage my mouth with.” I utter breathily and start making my way down his body.

 


	16. you are life I needed all along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They keep going deeper...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been too long and I'm sorry. It's hard times for me and my family and I just couldn't bring myself to do anything constructive.  
> Hope this one is not total shit...
> 
>  
> 
> The title is from 'Futile Devices'.

New York. October, 2018.

 

***** Armie*****

 

Timothée’s kitchen is so small, I feel like I’m trying to squeeze all 6.5 ft of me into a matchbox. I’m making breakfast, carefully considering my every move cause if I make a wrong one, everything will start to collapse. Or so it seems to me. Tim is on the phone with his mom, merely humming to whatever it is that she’s saying to him, shooting tentative glances in my direction every now and then. 

“Okay. Yes, I promise, I’ll ask him.” He shakes his head agitatedly. “Bye, mom.”

“What was that about?” I put down the spatula and turn around.

He’s biting the inside of his cheek, eyes glued to the floor. 

“Tim, is something wrong?”

“Pauline has arrived.” He states, keeping eyes down.

“Yeah, I remember. I guess, you’re spending the day with your family then?” 

I know it’s a good thing but a part of me doesn’t want him to leave, which is quite stupid, horribly selfish and borderline unhealthy. I need to deal with this newly awakened possessiveness before it starts causing real problems.

“No, she’s meeting some of her friends. But we’re having a family dinner later and… um… mom asked me to bring you along.” His head shoots up and he starts rattling. “You don’t have to go, though. I can tell them you had other plans. I just promised I’d let you know they wanted to see you, so I’m letting you know…”

“I’ll go.” I nod enthusiastically. “If  _ you  _ want me to, that is.”

“I do.” Timothée mirrors my gesture. “It’s just… I know them. They are gonna tell you embarrassing stories about me and ask you awkward questions about us, and I’m not sure we’re ready to deal with it yet.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, we’ll be fine. As long as they don’t pry into our sexual life, of course.”

“Knowing my mom…” 

“Then I guess, she’ll be pleased to hear that her son is the best fuck I’ve ever had.” I shrug nonchalantly.

“I can’t believe you’d lie straight to my mother’s face.” He tsktsks me, but there’s this unmistakable glint in his eyes, indicating  my words have hit the spot. 

“Who says it’s a lie?” I turn off the stove and remove the apron. “Breakfast is ready, by the way.”

“Fuck the breakfast.” He approaches and pulls on my t-shirt to bring me closer. “So... I’m the best you’ve ever had? Somehow I find it hard to believe.”

“You should give yourself more credit, Timmy. You’re very talented. And I’m not talking about acting.” 

“It has nothing to do with the talent. I’m just very eager to please you.” He purrs like a cat, rubbing his body against mine. “In every possible way.”

Before I know it, his fingers tug on the drawstrings and make their way inside my sweatpants.

“No, no, no. We’re not doing this right now.” I make a miserable attempt to flee but he corners me, a predatory glint in his eyes makes me shiver.

“Careful, Armie. I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to turn down the best sex in your life and I’m definitely in the mood to make it feel really good for you.” 

“You just can’t get enough of me, can you?” I groan under my breath while his hands roam all over my body as if he hasn’t been touching me for most of last night. 

“Never.”

He starts climbing me like a tree, so I pick him up and put him on the counter, wrapping his legs around my waist. He clings to me, holding on for dear life, as the kisses go from chaste and teasing to hungry, almost violent. 

“What about you?” I pull back abruptly. 

“What about me?” He cranes his neck to chase my lips, pouting like a baby as I duck my head away. 

“Am I the best you’ve ever had?” 

Tim tilts his head, smirking.

“I’m tempted to say ‘yes’, but I could really use a quickie… just to make sure.”

“Works for me.” I try to lift him up, but he won’t let me.

“I want you to fuck me right here.”

“But all the stuff is in the bedroom.”

“I’ve got a condom in my back pocket and the lube is in the top drawer, next to the corkscrew.”

“Corkscrew? Seriously?”

He grins like a Cheshire cat, visibly pleased with himself. 

“I knew you’d like it.”

I reach for the said box and grasp a tiny bottle.

“Peach scented?”

“I figured we could give it a try.” He shrugs and pulls up his t-shirt. 

“Something tells me this is gonna become your favourite.” I push the drawer, incidentally hitting a pan on the stove so that it nearly falls to the floor. “Also, have I mentioned that I hate your kitchen?”

 

Tim’s parents do ask a lot of questions, still somehow I don’t feel interrogated one bit. On the contrary, it feels liberating to talk about our relationship so freely, without fear of being judged. 

“You two look very happy.” Nicole exchanges fond glances with her husband.

“Thanks to my meddling!” Pauline chimes in, raising her glass of wine.

We all join her and Timothée kisses me right in front of his family, deeply and intensely. 

Just as the desert is served, my phone rings with FaceTime standart melody. 

“It’s Elizabeth with the kids.” I excuse myself from the table, squeezing Tim’s shoulder on my way to the kitchen.

A minute later, though, I’m back, phone clutched in an extended hand. 

“My daughter wants to talk to you. Says it’s important.” 

He grabs the phone, hesitated, avoiding the amused gazes of his parents.

“Hey, sweetie.” 

“Can we go to a costume parade on Halloween?” Harper inquires without so much as a ‘hello’. 

“Um… what?” Timothée stutters, taken aback. 

“Mommy says she has to work on Halloween, so brother and I can go to New York with dad. Mommy says there are lots of costume parades. I want to be Mavis this year and dad could be Dracula, and you could be Frank, and Ford...”

“Harper,” I cut her off, using my ‘strict-parent’ voice, “you can’t startle Timmy like that, you have to talk about those things to me first.”

She pouts but obeys right away. 

“Daddy, can we please please please go?”

“I don’t know if I’m going to be in New York on Halloween yet. If I am, then yes, we will, but Timmy won’t be coming with us either way.”

He furrows his eyebrows, confused, the rest of the table stays quiet, forced to witness our silly domestic squabble. 

“But why?” Harper whines, her eyes start welling with tears.

“Because he might have his own things to do and we can’t make him spend all of his time with us.” 

I can see from the corner of my eye Tim putting down his glass of water and motioning me to join him in the kitchen. 

“Hops, I have to go now. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Kiss your brother for me.” 

I end the call and give Chalamets an apologetic smile, leaving the table.

 

“What the fuck was that?” Tim corners me once we’re relatively secluded.

There’s no door between the kitchen and dining area, but he doesn’t bother to keep his voice down.

“What do you mean?” It’s a genuine question because I seriously have no idea what I’ve done wrong.

“What are those ‘things of my own’ you were referring to?” 

“You’re filming a movie in Boston, remember?”

“It won’t take that long and you know it.” He folds his arms, watching me intently. “So?”

“I honestly don’t know why you’re suddenly so wired.” I shrug defensively. “I said what I meant - I don’t expect you to want to hang out with my kids whenever they’re around.”

“That I figured. One question. Why?”

“Because I’m sure you have more interesting things to do than to dress up as a monster and walk a 3-year old through a crowd of yelling children on Halloween.”

“Oh yeah, like what?” He radiates fury, voice cold and sharp.

The fact that his parents are like 10 feet away isn’t helping. 

“Can we talk about it back at your place, please?” 

He doesn’t respond, merely marches past me with his head held high. Angry Timothée is definitely not something I’m closely familiar with. It’s even harder to make amends when you don’t know where you fucked up in the first place.

 

He doesn’t talk to me for the rest of the dinner, at least not directly, focusing all of his attention on Pauline. Mark tries to engage me in an abstract conversation, but I can only participate so much, my mind is clouded with confusion and affliction. We were having the best time just half an hour ago. How did it all go south so fast?

Once we’re back, he kicks his shoes off hurriedly and walks straight to his bedroom. As much as I want this all worked out as soon as possible I feel like I need to give him a little time to cool off, so I settle on the couch and wait. Twenty minutes later, I’m still not sure if it’s smart to bother him just yet, but my whole body shakes with anxiety. I need to know we’re fine, otherwise I’ll lose my mind.

He’s lying on his side of bed, making no move as I take the space next to him. 

“Tim,” I keep my voice low. “Can we talk?”

“You wanna talk?” He turns around in one swift move. “Okay, let’s talk. Why don’t you want me around your kids?”

“What?” I gasp at such nonsense. “Where did that come from?”

“Don’t give me that crap, you know full well what I’m talking about.”

“Seriously, I don’t. And anyway, that’s not true. We spent a week together recently, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t leave me alone with them for a second.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Armie, every time I offered my help you just waved me off, saying you’d do it on your own. Although, we both know I could help. I’m not that bad with kids, after all.”

“I never said you were. I just didn’t want them to get on your nerves. Kids can be quite annoying.”

“But they are not some random kids, they are yours and I love them. And I want to take care of them.”

“They love you too, you know that. They’re always excited to spend time with you, especially Harper.”

“Then why did you tell her I had other plans for Halloween?”

“And you didn’t?” 

“Enlighten me.” He tries to sound malicious but his voice rings with sheer hurt instead. 

“I thought you’d want to go out with your friends. It’s a tradition, after all?”

He’d told me about those crazy nights out with his school buddies, resulting in the worst hangovers  and tons of provocative pictures and videos shared in the morning. 

“Actually, I was going to skip it this year, but it looks like you’ve made the decision for me.” 

He turns to face the window, wrapping his hands around himself. 

“Timmy, that’s the exact opposite of what I was trying to do. I just didn’t want you to feel obligated to live my life and abandon yours completely.”

“And I foolishly suggested we shared one.” He says quietly. 

_ I’m a moron. A fucking stupid moron.  _

“It’s all right, I get it.” He speaks before I get to explain myself. “You don’t want me to ‘give up my life’ (he actually air-quotes) for the same reason you don’t want me to become too close with your kids. It’s your way of preparing for our break up.”

“What?”

“You don’t want them to get too attached to me, just like you don’t want me to get too attached to you, assuming we are not going to work in the long run.”

“ _ This _ is bullshit. You don’t actually believe that.” I shake my head, feeling the anxiety from before making a comeback. 

“I try not to for most of the time, but sometimes when you kiss me or make love to me I can just feel it. You’re so desperate, like you can see the future and know for a fact that we won’t last, and it hurts so much because you’re burying something that’s only just come to life, and we don’t deserve it.”

_ You’re wrong,  _ I want to say, _ you’re so terribly wrong.  _

“I  _ am _ desperate sometimes, but it’s not what you think.”

Timothée stays silent, so I go on.

“Ever since you came back and we became a real couple, I’ve been living in fear of losing you. As in, you’ll wake up one day and realize you don’t want me anymore, just like that. Or worse, you’ll wake up and realize you want someone else.

And if you think about it, it’s not an unlikely thing to happen. You’re young, you’ll meet thousands of people who are better for you than me. The thing is, there’s definitely no one better for me out there, because you’re everything I’ve ever wanted and more. You’re bright, funny, sexy and talented, the whole world is at your feet. And as much as I’d like to share this beautiful life that lies ahead of you, I can’t pretend I’m a match for you.

So, yeah, you’re probably right. A part of me knows we’re doomed, but that doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying every second I get to spend with you.”

“I can’t believe you.” Timmy’s shaking his head, voice thick with tears. “Seriously, Armie, can’t you see? I’m only what you’ve made me. I was barely anyone when we met and you breathed life into me, helped me feel comfortable in my skin, taught me how to love and how to receive love. All those people know ‘me-after-you’ but you knew me before and you loved me, which makes it clear as day that there cannot be anyone better for me. I’m all yours and I want to believe you’re equally mine.”

“I will be yours for as long as you want me…”

“Oh, shut up.” He groans. “It’s not some ‘affair to remember’, I’m all in. I want to share a bed, a house and a life with you. I want to raise your children. Our children. I want to grow old with you. I might be young but I know what we have is something unique, something worth fighting for. So stop counting seconds and start making plans because I’m not leaving you. Not now, not ever.”

His words undo something in me, something that needed to be undone for a very long time. I feel a vital urge to lose myself in him, to learn what it’s like to give him full control over me, to turn into a helpless sobbing mess in his arms, wondering if he’s gonna have mercy on me or ruin me altogether. But inured to always having the upper hand, I just don’t know how to do it. 

“I so don’t deserve you.” I sigh heavily, brushing his lower lip with a pad of my thumb. Timothée  crawls on top of me in a flash, kissing the life out of me. 

“You do, Armie. You deserve all the love in the world and I could give it to you if you’d just let me.”

“Show me.” My heart is pounding so loud in my ears, I can barely hear my own words. 

He leans on his elbows above me, staring me right in the face, and his eyes are so dark and wild, it sends goosebumps all over my body. 

“What do you need?” He inquires huskily. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“You know what I want.” 

He closes his eyes and presses our foreheads together. “Are you sure?”

“Love me…” I murmur in response, the thought of finally being taken is enough to make me start shaking from head to toe. “Just... love me.”


	17. My My My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a game night doesn't go as planned. or does it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever but I'm back! And (yay!) I've finished the story and, though it took me AGES, I'm happy(ish) with how it ends. Which a great accomplishment for me. 
> 
>  
> 
> The title is from Troye Sivan's song, obviously;)

Santa Monica, California. November, 2018. 

  
  


*****Armie*****

 

“You look like shit, dude.” I’m talking to my reflection in the full-length mirror. My suite looks like a battlefield - I have to be downstairs in about an hour to present Timmy with an award and nothing feels right to wear. First, because I have a huge hickey right below my Adam’s apple (thank you,  Timothée). Second, I’ve had like 4 hours of sleep last night (again,  thank you,  Timothée) and even the best clothes can’t make up for my face right now. Puffy and weary, it reminds me of the fact that I’m 32  and, unlike my young lover, can no longer have crazy nights without consequences. 

To be honest, it wasn’t that crazy at all. His flight had got delayed and he only managed to get to my place around 2 a.m. I knew actual sleeping wasn’t an option the moment he crawled into bed, deliberately making as much noise as possible (usually, he’s very careful to not wake me up if he’s late). ‘I need you now’ was all he said once my eyes fluttered open. After a hasty but intense fuck we kissed for what felt like hours, then talked for even longer as if we hadn’t seen each other for months, then fucked again, slower this time, relishing every second. Timothée fell asleep right on top of me afterwards and I was too lazy to roll us to the side - hence, my wrecked state in the morning. 

A loud knock on the door, quickly turning into persistent hammering, makes me jump in surprise. 

“Timothée?” 

He pushes me inside the room, shutting the door immediately. 

“I needed to talk to you.” 

“Now?”

He nods and takes a moment to have a good look at me. 

“A turtleneck?” He arches his eyebrow with a smirk.

“Don’t even start.” I swear, I can still feel his lips, sucking hard on my skin. “What are you doing here?”

“Um… I suddenly remembered how irked you were when I wore Haider in Toronto, so I decided to give you a heads-up on tonight’s outfit.” 

He’s wearing a plain black suit, probably too somber for him, and I can’t imagine why I would have an issue with it. 

“You look... good.” I shrug uncertainly. “And there’s absolutely no need to ask for my approval every time you dress up.”

“Well…” He stutters and starts unbuttoning his jacket, then looks me straight in the face and shrugs it off. 

“What the f…” I raise my hand to reach for him but he shakes his head.

“There’s more.” His voice is both cautious and provocative as he turns around to demonstrate the back. 

To be honest, there’s not much to look at in respect of the top itself, but plenty of his bare skin instead. In contrast with black ribbon, it looks even paler, almost translucent, the lustrous beading adds a supernatural glow to it, and I experience that same irresistible need, echoing from two and a half years ago in Crema, to  _ touchtouchtouch.  _ Whatever this thing is, it must be deemed illegal to wear.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I don’t recognize my own voice, pleading, borderline pathetic. 

“No no no no, nuh-uh.” He bats my hands off and takes a step aside as I resume my attempts to touch him. 

“You can’t wear something like this and expect me to not get handsy.” 

“Actually, that’s the real reason why I’m here. We’re about to spend the entire evening together, surrounded by cameras. And, you know, they see everything. So I feel like we should play a little game tonight.”

“What are you talking about?” My brain refuses to follow, too busy mulling over the idea of being twenty minutes late to the red carpet. Will it be enough time to get him naked and then put everything back on, including this torture device? 

“A game.” He repeats, his eyes shine with mischievous glint. “For the whole night we act strictly like friends.”

“Isn’t it what we’ve been doing for the past two months?”

“Not exactly. There are always those lingering stares, prolonged hugs with hands lower than appropriate. It won’t do for tonight.” 

“What will do, then?” I fold my arms, almost offended by how patronizing he sounds. As if I’m the only needy one.

“Nothing. No flirting, no eye-fucking, definitely no touching.” 

“How exactly am I supposed to present an award without hugging you?”

“Okay, that’s the only exception. But make it quick.” 

“I must have missed it, but… what’s the fun part?”

He smiles and takes a careful step towards me, licking his lower lip.

“If you’re a good boy, you’ll get to take this thing off me later.” He comes closer, melting me with his burning eyes. “And do  _ anything  _ you want afterwards.” 

“Define  _ anything _ .”  _ Damn it, Armie, don’t sound so eager. _

“ _ Anything _ means whatever your raunchy inventive mind can come up with. And I know for a fact you’ve got a lot of ideas, you told me yourself the other day.”

We did have the talk about a week ago, and, not surprisingly, agreed on every fantasy either of us suggested. 

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you allowed to touch me?”

“No. The rules work both ways.”

“And what if  _ you  _ break them?”

“Your part of the deal stays.”

“Good to know.”

“I wouldn’t count on that, If I were you. I know how to handle myself, I’ve had months of practice.”

“You couldn’t do much back then. Now, however…”

 

I should’ve known I was leading myself into a deathtrap when I agreed to that stupid game. Of course, he has no trouble keeping his shit together, he’s a fucking Oscar nominee, after all. I, on the other hand, feel like I’m dying every time he leans closer to hear what the neighbour on my left is telling him. He never addresses me directly, too busy talking to everyone else instead. He doesn’t look at me either, his eyes leap from one person to another as if I’m not even there. 

After an hour of him acting distant and indifferent, the past months together feel like nothing but a dream; they must have only happened in my mind because... no one can be this aloof when in love.  _ Right? _

What’s even worse, he’s definitely enjoying everyone else’s attention. Probably way too much. All perky and lively, he’s beaming at the reporter, a girl his age who looks rather like a model. While interviewing, she not so subtly invades his private space, but  _ he lets her. _ He must be telling her a joke cause she bursts into a fit of laughter, putting her hand on his chest, right where I wasn’t allowed to a couple hours ago. His eyes never leave her lips.  _ He’s flirting,  _ I realize. Knowing full well I’m right across the room, following his every move, _ he’s flirting with someone else.  _

It’s cruel, and painful and I feel like I might throw up any second now.  _ He might have lost himself in the game,  _ I tell myself. If we’re still playing, that is. Because, honestly, no one can be  _ that good. _

 

Not willing to cause a scene or make a fool of myself in any other way, I simply leave. Quietly, without much fuss, I head to the lobby to ask for a car. I need to go home, wash this night off me, maybe get wasted. Anything to get rid of the image of _my_ _Timothée_ hitting on some random girl.

“Armie.” His voice echoes in the deserted hall. “What are you doing?”

“Going home.” I respond, not bothering to slow down or turn around.

“Looks more like running away.” 

“Maybe.” I sigh - the weight of this evening is suddenly too much and I need to leave, to hide, to forget all I’ve seen and felt for the past hours, ‘cause if I don’t, it’ll tear me apart. 

“What’s wrong?” He approaches me, eyes scanning my face with concern.

_ Tell him. Let him know how much it hurts to see him like that. _

“Armie?” He makes another careful step forward.

“I can’t...” I whisper under my breath. “This game or whatever it was, I can’t do this.”

“Did I do something wrong?” 

“Am I really what you want?” 

“What?” He blinks at me, dumbfounded, mouth slightly open.

“You said I was and I believed you, but just about ten minutes ago you were charming the pants off someone other than me.”

“I wasn’t… Armie, I swear I wasn’t.” He grabs my face in both hands and leans his forehead toward mine. “It was just part of the game, I wanted to provoke some reaction in you and, obviously, I fucked up. I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.”

“Please don’t do this ever again.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath - he smells of the cologne he stole from me a month ago (‘I feel so yours when I wear it’) and it’s enough to make me yield, to go pliant in his arms. 

“Let’s go home.” He murmurs, lips brushing against my cheek. 

Somehow neither of us cares about being caught in a compromising position, too immersed in our mess. 

“Don’t you have to pose with the award?”

“I don’t care.” His hands slide lower, pulling at the collar of my turtleneck, as he places a wet sucking kiss, this time  _ above  _ my Adam’s apple. 

“Someone might see us.” 

He looks me straight in the face, caressing my cheek ever so lightly, his eyes go darker by the second.

“I. Don’t. Care.”

  
The moment the partition between us and the driver is up, Timothée straddles me, slipping his tongue into my mouth, greedy and lust-ridden. My hands instantly find their way under his jacket - he shivers as my fingers trace his spine through the loosely laced rows of ribbon. I want to take it off, I want him completely naked on me, under me. My anxiety has spiraled into pure animal desire, still suffocating, but at least now it’s something we both share.

In the darkness of my bedroom he shrugs the jacket off and turns around, heading towards the window, the dim moon glow highlights his beautiful face. I follow him and press my body against his back, my lips skimming across the back of his neck. The fierce impatience is dulled by a sudden surge of tenderness. 

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs and tilts his head, lips seeking lips. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I reply between kisses.

“I love you. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know, I really do. I just…”

I don’t get to finish my thought as he pushes me onto the bed and climbs on top, hands working fast on my clothes. Getting out of our pants is problematic, but we somehow manage, so that there’s nothing between us except for the infamous bib, which I both love and hate by now. 

“Are you gonna take it off at last?” Timothée leans forward, rubbing his torso against mine.

“I thought we were done with the game?” 

“It’s not about the game. I wore this thing for you.” He presses his naked ass into my crotch. “Everything I do is for you.”

I sit up swiftly, kissing him hard, one hand is on his butt, squeezing smooth flesh, another is tugging at the ribbon ends. A couple of rushed moves and there’s finally nothing but his hot skin touching mine. No piece of clothing would ever be good enough to make me want to leave it on, I think. 

He withdraws to reach for the lube and pours a generous amount on his own fingers. 

“Tim,” I grab his hand as he winces, either at the unexpected cold or at the hasty intrusion. “Let me do it.”

“I’m good. I’ve done this before the ceremony.”

“Oh...” 

“I was hoping you’d abandon that stupid game and take me to your room to fuck me senseless.”

“You could’ve just asked.” I suddenly want to laugh. 

“Next time, I will.”

He shudders as my fingers graze the sensitive spot in his tight heat, his head falls onto my shoulder as he mouths ‘now, please, Armie, now’, choking on his own breath. 

“I just need to get…” I make an attempt to reach for the condom, but he shakes his head vigorously, pinning my hand down.

“No.” He announces with disarming resolute. “I want to feel  _ you _ .”

We both got tested way back in summer before he even got back, but by some tacit agreement we have been using protection nevertheless.

“Are you sure?” I need to ask because it feels like a huge decision, like, after we cross that line, he will always belong to me. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ve wanted it since we started sleeping together. Maybe, earlier.”

“So have I…” I whisper, surprised by my own confession.

He half rises just to reposition himself and sinks down, slowly but steadily,  his eyes never break away from mine. Which is odd as it’s in human nature to hide when you’re most vulnerable. But not for him. He challenges himself constantly, even in lovemaking, seeking his weakest spots and relishing pushing on them. 

“Oh my God.” He gasps as each further inch of my cock disappears inside of his body. “ _ Oh my God _ .”

Once fully seated, he rests his forehead against mine, slightly panting into my mouth; we stay still for a while, processing the overwhelming sense of being one. 

“Fuck… Armie… it’s so good.” He pushes me down and puts his hands on my chest. I might be inside him, but he’s got all the power. 

“Fuck…” I moan as he starts moving. He moans too. 

He keeps a steady pace for a while, until something clicks in him and he loses it completely. He starts bouncing up and down, his hips hit mine with the most delicious, filthy sounds, combined with his guttural animalistic grunts.

“Fuck, you’re so tight...” I choke as his walls clench around me. 

“Yeah, yeah. Keep talking.” 

...so tight and hot for me. You’re perfect... If I could... I’d stay like this, buried inside you... until the world ends.” 

I can tell he’s close by the way his eyes roll all the way back and his moves begin to stutter, so I pull him closer to support his weight and whisper ‘Let it go, baby. Now. Let it go.”

I fuck him through his orgasm, telling how heavenly he feels and how much I want to fill him up, and he whines and gasps for air and chants something I can’t make out, too far gone by now. 

  
  


“Don’t fall asleep.” I warn him as he curls up by my side. “We’re not finished yet.”

“I just need a little break.” Timothée lays his head on my shoulder. “It was really intense.”

“I figured. Your beautiful cock missed all the attention.”

“I wanted to come like that.” He scoots closer, wrapping his leg around mine. “I knew I could.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You fuck me so good.”

We literally just had sex and I’m all ready to go again.

“I’m glad I keep you satisfied.”

“You do, I feel so full of you.”

“You  _ are _ full of me.”

I reach for his ass and let my fingers travel down his crack, he instantly pushes himself into my hand. 

“So needy.” I murmur and drive my pointer finger into his hole, still dripping with my cum. I pump it in and out, then bring it to my lips and lick it clean, keeping our eyes locked.  

“Jesus…” He hisses and covers my mouth with his. 

“Eating my cum out of your ass - check.” I announce mockingly when he flops back on the pillow. 

“We’ve ditched the game and you still got what you wanted.” He elicits a half-laugh.

“You don’t need games to get what you want. All you need to do is ask.”

He’s quiet for a while. And then...

“I want to open you up with my tongue, fuck you raw from behind and feed you  _ my  _ cum afterwards.”  He blurts out in one breath and before embarrassment overtakes him I kiss him and whisper  _ ‘Done _ .’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm beyond grateful to everyone who's still reading. I hope you like what's to come.
> 
> Update tomorrow.


	18. I wanna tell the world, want everyone to see that you belong to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time to announce a divorce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the second update in the past 24 hours so make sure you've read the previous chapter.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> The title is from a song 'Adore You' by Jessie Ware.

Grand Cayman, Cayman Islands. January, 2019.

  
  


***** Timothée*****

 

To say the year got off to a good start would be an understatement. Right after Christmas we both got on planes - Armie in Denver and I in New York - and landed in the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. Our destination even had ‘Paradise’ in its name, which totally made sense - everything seemed other-worldly. The colors were so vivid and bright, I had a feeling I was inside a Disney movie. Armie only laughed at my childish joy as I was tugging on the bottom of his shirt pointing at every direction at once.

Later that night we sat by the sea, kissing and holding hands - something we couldn’t do openly in our respective hometowns. Here, though, we had a private villa with beach access at our disposal, so that we could do whatever we wanted without fear of being spotted. 

“Happy birthday, Timmy.” Armie whispered in my ear and I thought… yes, this is exactly what a ‘ _ happy birthday _ ’ feels like. I was always surrounded by tons of people on that day, family and friends, and it was nice and all, but something was missing. Now there were just the two of us, and, it turned out, that was all I actually needed. 

The following days were filled with so much love - we were successfully dissolving in each other, putting off the battles of the real life for tomorrow. One particular battle was coming very soon and it required all the strength and patience we could muster. 

On the second week of January, once the holiday rush has calmed down, it was planned to announce the divorce.

  
It came through a month ago, very civil and quietly, all the four of Hammers had a dinner at their favourite place afterwards (kids still not really aware of what was going on), talking and taking pictures. Armie later said it had felt like a celebration for some reason. Maybe, it was, I thought. They managed to go through a break-up and still remain a family. Definitely something worth celebrating. 

That night he took off his ring, like he always did going to bed with me, and never put it back on. 

  
“Thank you for this week.” I tell him as we lie in bed. “I needed it.”

It’s our last night here and the reality is coming to the doorstep of our perfect bubble. 

“Me more than you.” Armie’s breath tickles the skin on my neck, warm and soothing.

“Are you nervous?” I squeeze his hand on my waist. 

“I could say no, but that would be a lie.” He brings our hands to his mouth and kisses my fingers, one by one. As usual, my heart can not handle his display of affection, so I turn to bury my face in his chest, seeking refuge from my own inadequacy. 

“I wish I could come with you.” I mumble. “I wish I could help you through this.”

“I know, baby.” He kisses the hair on my left temple. “But I’m afraid I can’t let you do it.” 

“One step at a time, I know.”

“It’s not that.” He sighs. “I can deal with all the assaults when it comes to me personally. But I’m not sure what might happen if someone decides to make you the reason for my divorce.”

“I  _ am  _ the reason for your divorce.” After all those months, I still feel a pang in my heart thinking about it.

“Elizabeth doesn’t hold any grudges against you, though. And my kids love you. You didn’t ruin a family, but that’s exactly how  _ they _ are going to put it.”

“People say what they want to say.”

“Tell me it wouldn’t affect you.”

“Of course, it would affect me. But it’s not like you can protect me from the attacks if you keep me at a distance.”

“I’d still like to try.” 

I remain silent. What’s the use of insisting if he’s made up his mind?

“You’re the kindest and sweetest person I’ve ever met and I just can’t ruin it by bringing you into this.” 

“Would you stop loving me if I became more thick-skinned and coldhearted?”

“You acted quite coldhearted in spring and I still hopped on that plane.”

“Then why won’t you let me do the same thing for you?”

“I’d love more than anything for you to come with me. But the mere thought of paparazzi following our every step, stalking us like prey…” He shakes his head and burrows it in my hair. 

I know he’s right. I know I ask for too much. But I also know how he gets when overwhelmed by oppressive anxiety or sizzling anger, and to leave him on his own like that is akin to pushing him into a black hole. 

  
  


New York - Los Angeles. January, 2019.

  
  


I wake up to a text from Brian ‘No matter what, DO NOT go on social media today.’ and  instantly know it’s bad. Inured to taking his word for it, I do as told, slightly irritated by how patronizing everyone is. 

“I’m not a fucking child.” I curse under my breath, pouting exactly like one.

Somewhere around noon mom calls to invite me to dinner but I decline, saying I already have plans. My real plan, though, is to stay in and drive myself crazy obsessing about everything and nothing. Total radio silence on Armie’s end only adds up to my unease, bringing it to a boiling point. 

Pauline calls a couple times to see how I’m doing. My friends, who must have read weird comments on Twitter, check on me throughout the day. Even Elizabeth sends a concerned message. Still, there’s nothing from him. 

At 5:36 p.m. I call Brian to inform him I’m on my way to the airport to catch a 7 p.m. flight to LA. He only sighs in response. 

  
The most difficult thing, as it turns out, is to ring the buzzer on Armie’s door. I forgot my own set of keys in New York, though even if I had it with me I wouldn’t dare to use it right now. I contemplate the idea of spending the night in a hotel instead and coming back in the morning.  _ Don’t be ridiculous, Timothée. You didn’t come all the way from New York to hole up in a hotel room.  _

  
“I hate when you shut me out.” 

It’s the first thing I say as I step into his apartment. The best defense is a good offense, after all. 

“I didn’t shut you out.” He leans his back toward the closed door, eyes fixed on the floor.

“You never called.” I throw my backpack on the sofa.

“Neither did you.”

His voice is quiet, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s not angry. Instead, he looks miserable, crushed. Whatever he had to go through today was obviously too much and he wasn’t prepared, if you can be prepared for that sort of thing at all.

“Armie…” I approach him and as soon as his face meets my shoulder he starts crying.

Never have I ever seen him crying. Not once. 

“I’m so sorry.” I stroke his hair, sagging under his weight. “Baby, I’m so so sorry.”

  
“Do you want to talk about it?” 

We’re in his bed, fully dressed, he’s shaking faintly in my arms. 

“I don’t know. Can you just hold me for a while?” 

“Sure.” 

I start drifting off, soothed by his even breath, as he finally speaks.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

“It’s not even that bad. I mean, yeah, I’ve learned a lot about myself today, but that was to be expected.”

“Armie, no matter how tough you are, you’re not made of stone.”

“It’s not about me, Timothée. It’s what they say about you.” 

“And what do they say about me?”

“Haven’t you seen?”

I hum negatively and he burrows his face further in my chest.

“Then let’s keep it that way.”

“Armie...” 

“I’m merely a cheater and the disappointment of the year, but you…” He swallows forcefully, his body stiffens against mine. “You’re a homewrecker, a snake in disguise, a pure, distilled evil.”

He starts shaking again, clutching the back of my shirt, and a wave of hatred towards faceless people washes over me. I couldn’t care less what they think about me, I realize, but I can’t turn a blind eye to the suffering of the person I love the most. 

“And they don’t even know we’re together.” He concludes with a sob. 

“I kinda wish they did.” 

“What?” He disentangles himself in one swift move. “What did you just say?”

“I mean, judging by your state it couldn’t get any worse. So why not drop the bomb and just be done with it? Let them choke on their own bile.”

Armie leans closer, looking into my face like it’s the first time he sees me, his eyes dark with something other than anger or desire, something I haven’t come across yet. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I sound scared, probably, because he’s scaring me. 

“That’s exactly what my team suggested today - to come out as a couple.”

“WHAT? What did you say?”

“I said no without a second thought.”

“Why?” 

I know he’s being reasonable, still such an extreme attitude is quite hurtful.

“It would ruin your career and I could never do that to you.”

“Oh, please. Hollywood doesn’t care about who’s sleeping with whom as long as everyone looks happy on pictures together. And I’m sure, we can arrange that.” 

“I love you so much, you know?” He grabs my face in his hands and starts kissing my cheekbones. “And I’m so sorry we’re stuck in this mess.”

“Does this mean you’ll think about it?” I won’t let it go and he smiles at my stubbornness (he smiles!).

“Timmy…”

“Please?”

“We’ll talk to Brian tomorrow and listen to what he’s got to say, okay? Now let’s sleep.”

 

“Tim…” A soft purr of Armie’s voice echoes in the darkness of his bedroom. “Timmy, wake up.”

I roll over with a groan and hide my face into the pillow. 

“Can I have five more minutes?”

“You already said that half an hour ago.”

With another groan I cover my head with a pillow. He chuckles and starts kissing my neck, making his way lower. 

“Why am I naked?” I remember vividly falling asleep fully clothed.

“I undressed you somewhere around dawn.”

“Were you trying to engage me in something?”

“Maybe. You were a rock, though.”

I remove the pillow and turn to face him. With no light coming through the roller blinds I can barely make out his posture.

“I can make it up to you right now.” 

“Very tempting.” He laughs. “But it’s nearly 2 p.m. in New York and I believe we’ve got some calls to make.”

 

I refuse to eat until we talk to Brian which earns me a frown from Armie but eventually he complies. He’s sitting right next to me as I wait for the call to come through, his hand clasping mine outside the laptop camera’s field of view. 

Brian’s face remains incomprehensible throughout my tirade. Once it’s over, he transfers his gaze to Armie and I can feel my man’s hand tremble a little. 

“What do  _ you  _ think about it?” Brian’s tone is surprisingly calm, as if he’s asking about our plans for the day.

“I think it’s a suicide mission.” He declares and gets a glare from me in response.

“So you don’t want to do it?” Brian studies his face with curiosity. 

“It’s not about me. Timothée’s the one who’d be taking an unnecessary risk.”

“I told you it’s not that big a deal…” I cut in but he cuts me off. 

“You tell him.” He addresses Brian.

“Actually, it’s not such a terrible idea. I’ve been considering it myself, wondering if you’re ready to come out.”

We both gape, dumbfounded. 

“We just need to show it in the proper light. I guess your people would be willing to collaborate, right, Armie?”

He nods, speechless, so Brian proceeds.

“Your wife… your ex-wife might also get involved. If she doesn’t mind, of course.” 

“Can’t we leave Elizabeth out of it?” I finally regain my voice.

“I wish we could. But we need to make it clear she doesn’t hold anything against you.” 

“I don’t think it would be a problem.” Armie speaks up. 

“Good. I’m gonna contact your agent and talk things through. If we reach an agreement on how to make it work, I’ll be the one to let you know.”

“Brian…” Armie’s voice wavers. “This is pure madness.”

“Going against the tide always is. No one is expecting this from you, which is why we should do it.”

“The Internet assholes are gonna go wild.”

“Leave that battle to your fans; they’re omnipresent and very dedicated, no one stands a chance against them. You’d better focus on yourselves, your friends and families. Figure out what you want to tell them.”

Armie’s phone starts ringing and without checking the screen he gets up and retreats to the kitchen. Having listened to all Brian’s instructions I wrap up the call and fall back onto the sofa - lack of caffeine in my system is starting to show. 

Armie’s voice is closer now - it sounds like he’s pacing back and forth - and I can tell he’s nervous: he listens more than speaks and only answers in monosyllables. After a long silence he shows up from around the corner, shoots me a cautious look and shakes his head negatively as if his interlocutor can see him. 

“No, I really don’t want to go outside today either. Besides, Timothée is here, so…” 

Another long silence. And another look, more horrified this time.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He sighs. “Fine, I’ll ask him. Call you right back.”

Armie puts his phone down on the coffee table and wraps his hands around himself, his expression somewhere between lost and doomed.

“Is everything alright? Who was that?” 

“My mother.” His eyes fall to the floor. “She’s in town and wants us to have lunch together. All three of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to redenodersterben, my amazing proofreader. You're doing God's work❤


	19. If the Lord don’t forgive me, I’d still have my baby and my babe would have me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meeting the mother. 2.0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're picking up right where we left off.
> 
>  
> 
> The title is from Hozier's 'Work song'.

Los Angeles. January, 2019.

  
  


*****Armie*****

 

“It’s totally up to you, though. If you don’t feel comfortable, then we’re not doing it.”

Timmy’s eyes travel around the flat, deliberately avoiding my face, some serious debate going on inside him. 

“So, she knows.”

It doesn’t come out as a question, more like a statement, with a hint of accusation. Or am I hearing things?

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“I told her back in summer, right after my birthday.”

He’s chewing the inside of his cheek and I can practically hear him counting to ten. Apparently, it helps as his voice stays low, placid.

“What did she say?”

“Not much. She’s my mother, she knows that if I’ve made up my mind it’s no use to try to make me change it. She only asked me to keep the kids my first priority.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it mattered.”

_ Nice, Armie, really really nice. _

“You told your mother, who couldn’t even bear the thought of you kissing a man on screen, that you were in a relationship with that same man but now in real life, and you didn’t think it mattered?” 

In all honesty, I’d rather for him to shout at me than to sound as disappointed as he does right now. 

“I only told her because she wouldn’t stop asking me if we were certain about the divorce. We’ve never revisited the subject since then.”

“And now she wants to meet the two of us?”

“I’m just as confused as you are.”

“I’m not confused, Armie. I’m fucking terrified.” He rubs his eyes like a child and it makes him look so small, so defenseless.

I can only muster a weak ‘why’ in response, knowing full well that he’s got enough reasons.

“Look me in the eye and tell me that you’re not.”

“Whatever she might say will not change a thing between us. Her views have never been determinant in my life, and you know it. And, like I said, we don’t have to deal with her right now.”

“If we can’t ‘deal with her’ how are we supposed to pull this ‘coming out’ thing off, huh?”

“So you’re terrified and you still want to meet her?”

“Yes.”

“Something’s definitely wrong with your sense of self-preservation.” 

“Consider it a test. If we don’t break up by the end of the day, then we’ll make it through pretty much anything else.”

“Not funny.”

“I didn’t mean it to be.” 

His eyes are sad and tired, and I know, he’s right - I am just as terrified.

  
Los Angeles. March, 2018.

  
“Why didn’t Elizabeth come?” My mother hugs me after being attacked by both of her grandchildren.

We’re at our favourite family cafe, having lunch, surrounded by a good dozen squealing kids. Ford is sitting in a high chair, incessantly bouncing his tiny legs, desperate to go exploring. Harper is making new friends with two twins wearing identical dresses (for some reason, she’s always had a thing for twins and was very upset to find she’d never have one). 

“She had her own things to do.” I take a sip of my coffee, eyes glued to the cup. 

“Is everything alright with the bakeries?” I feel her pointed stare but can’t bring myself to meet it.

“Mhm.” I hum into the mug. 

After a short but charged moment of silence I finally force myself to look at her. She narrows her eyes, a gesture I’m so familiar with since childhood, and I have no doubt that she knows. The fact that my mother could always read me without the least effort was the main reason I used to think I’d never become a good actor. 

“You’re making a huge mistake.” Her voice is cold and emotionless. 

She would have definitely made it in Hollywood, I think.

“Maybe. But… it’s decided.”

“Did you think about your kids? How it’s going to affect them?” 

“Of course, we’re thinking about the kids, mom. We have contacted a therapist and she said, that, yes, separations may be traumatizing for children. But if we join forces and make them see that the split is amicable and both parents still love them and each other, the damage might be minimized, if not prevented fully.” 

“I do not support this decision.” She announces with the same detachment in her voice. “But when have you asked for my support, right?”

And, just like that, the conversation is over. 

 

Los Angeles. January, 2019. 

 

*****Timothée*****

 

‘You need to learn to step outside your comfort zone,’ my mom used to tell me when I was a teenager, dealing with all-consuming self-doubt. And, like a good momma’s boy, I’ve been following her advice, constantly challenging myself, never opting for the easy way. It may have benefited me hugely work-wise, but the habit of questioning my every single word, action and even thought remained, costing me millions of nerve cells. Right now I have to leave my comfort zone again and put myself into whatever it is that’s the opposite, and while doing it I have to stay calm and strong, for both me and Armie. 

_ Breathe, Timothée, it’s just your boyfriend’s mom. Your boyfriend’s mom, who never bothered to see her son’s greatest performance to date because it violated her religious principles. Your boyfriend’s mom, who loved Elizabeth and wouldn’t stop reminding Armie that marrying her was the best decision he’s ever made. Your boyfriend’s mom, who nearly made you throw up from anxiety the only time you saw each other.  _

“I love you.” Armie sneaks up on me while I’m trying to pull myself together on the balcony. “Whatever she says or implies, I love you and I’m not giving you up.”

  
Dru looks the opposite of intimidating, at least in appearance, dressed all in white, huge sunglasses covering half her face. She hugs Armie with a pat on his back and removes the glasses, scanning me from head to toe.  _ X-ray vision, I remember.  _

“It’s good to see you again.” I extend my hand and she shakes it, her eyes falter from my face to Armie’s and back. 

Something’s not right about her, her whole demeanour does not ring authority and indulgence like it did last time. She seems lost, not really scared, but somewhat baffled. Like it’s the first time she put herself into a situation she doesn’t know how to handle. I don’t know what she expected to see when she initiated that lunch, but it’s clearly not what she’s seeing right now, though we’ve only exchanged greetings - there’s not much to see into it. Right? 

“Come on,” Armie motions her to the dining area, “I’m sure everyone is starving.”

I was. Up until now.

  
“I came to see Elizabeth.” Dru flattens the napkin, avoiding eye-contact with either of us. “She’s holding it together pretty well. The kids are all right too.”

“I know, mom.” Armie heaves a heavy sigh. “We talk every day.” 

“Good.” She nods, head still low. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Whatever it is that you came here to say, just say it.” Armie’s voice sounds threatening, the cutting edge of it makes me shiver, and, for some reason, I want to shield his mother from such blatant aggression. 

“I just wanted to see if you were okay. All of you.” Dru mutters under her breath with a faint shrug. 

“We are.” Armie grabs my hand on the table, certain she’ll catch it immediately.

I wonder if he’s doing it on purpose, trying how far he can push until she breaks. 

“So I see.” She nods again, eyes glued to where our hands are entwined. “Not what I expected but…”

“What did you expect, mother?” Armie keeps his attacking position, so I squeeze his hand lightly.  _ Take it easy.  _

“I wanted to support you. I read all those tweets, after all.”

“Of course, you did.”

“Armie, you have to cut me some slack. I’m your mother, not some kind of monster.” 

She straightens in her chair, her face suddenly looks drawn - the perfect mask ruined by Armie’s hostility. The past two days must have been hard for her too, I think. To read all the terrible things about her son, to know he’s in pain and never be able to reach out.  _ “That’s not what we do in my family.”  _ I remember Armie’s words.  _ “When there’s a problem, everyone is dealing with it on their own.”  _

“After I told you Timmy and I were together you barely talked to me, and it’s been five months. Five months, mom! Now you’re here, telling me you want to support me. But can you do that? Can you support  _ us _ ?”

“I know it’s been long and I’m sorry.” Unlike Armie’s, her voice stays calm, but there’s just as much pain in it. “I needed time to get used to the idea that my son had left his wife for another person. A person, who is 9 years younger. A person who lives on the other side of the country. A person who is…”

“A man?” 

Her head jolts up and she stares at him with her lips pursed tightly as if she’s biting her tongue not to let anything slip. 

“You can’t even say, can you?” 

“Armie…” I tug at his wrist.  _ Don’t. _

“That was the hardest part, yes.” Dru’s voice interrupts our silent exchange. “It’s not like I’m homophobic…”

Armie snorts and I strengthen my grip on his hand. Dru shifts her gaze to me.

“It’s just not what I was brought up to believe in. I don’t understand how it works and I’m not sure I want to.”

“Why?” I can’t not ask her. 

“Because I feel too old for groundbreaking revelations. That doesn’t mean that I’m going to abandon my son, though.” She grabs Armie’s right hand. “I wanted to be there for you. I can see now that you’ve got Timothée by your side and he seems to be doing a great job of taking care of you, so you don’t need me. But I am always going to be there for you. Always. No matter what.”

Armie’s eyes go so wide they might pop out of their sockets. He gapes as Dru gives him a crooked apologetic smile.

_ People never stop surprising me, I think.  _

“Better late than never, right?” She smiles at me too and a tide of relief washes over me, making me sink back in the chair. 

 

“Are you sure you wanna do this now? Have you talked to Elizabeth about it?” 

We are still at the table, though the food is long gone by now. Dru’s finishing her coffee; she and Armie have been having quite a lively conversation while I was busy satisfying my suddenly awakened appetite. 

“No, I haven’t spoken to anyone yet.” Armie side-eyes me carefully as if checking up on me. By some tacit agreement, we haven’t been touching much during lunch, but both couldn’t help casting furtive glances at one another.

“What does your agent say?” Dru addresses me.

“He says we should strike while the iron is hot. There might be consequences, I guess…”

“There  _ will _ be consequences!” Armie chimes in.

“Armie’s afraid it would undermine our careers.” I shrug at his mother.

“And you’re not?” She arches her eyebrow.

“Of course, I am but… If we don’t do this now, we’ll have to wait till it all calms down. Which  might take a while, and as an extremely anxious person I hate waiting.” I shake my head, musing about my own childishness. “It’s not like I need to make a statement or something. I just…”

“You just don’t want to hide.” She finishes for me. 

It’s so weird to find understanding in someone you’ve dreaded so much. 

“Exactly.” 

“Would you rather keep it low, Armie?” She folds her arms expectantly. 

“I don’t know. I just don’t want it to blow up in our faces.”

“Oh, it  _ is  _ going to blow up in your faces. We had a little preview yesterday and it wasn’t nice, but let me ask you one thing, and it’s a question for both of you. Think about last January - you were on top of the world, having the time of your life. Endless interviews, awards ceremonies, job offers. You had everything but each other. Now you’re together but it might cost you everything you’ve worked so hard for. Would it be enough to make up for your professional success? You’re actors, after all, talented and ambitious.”

I don’t know about Armie,” I shake my head nervously, “but I wasn’t half as happy last January as I am now. Professional success can only do so much for you when your heart is broken, and mine was, because I thought it was the end. If someone had told me that in a year I would be here, having a conversation about publicly confirming our relationship, I would’ve laughed in their face, bitterly. Now I know how people are gonna react if we do come out, but I also know we never did anything wrong. And even if nobody believes it, it will still be enough for the two of us. Besides, I don’t think it’ll actually ruin our careers - Armie’s already signed for like ten projects and I can always ask Luca to come up with something for me.” 

“I wish I could be as optimistic as you are.” Armie rests his elbows on the table with a deep sigh. “But years in the industry have made me cynical, I guess.”

“Armie, if we keep it a secret for another year, or two, or three, and then it comes out, and it will at some point, you know it, they’ll call us out as liars and they’ll be 100% right. Also, imagine how miserable those years would be and all for what? Fear of staying unemployed?”

“I think Timothée has a point here, son.” Dru gently strokes Armie’s hand. “I’m not saying you should make an announcement but sticking your head in the sand is not an option here.”

“And what if it all goes down terribly? What then, huh?” He meets his mother’s gaze and it feels like he’s looking in the mirror, their resemblance is striking.

“Then at least you’ll be together to go through this. In time people will move on and it will all stay in the past, and you’ll still have each other.”

“Never thought you were such a romantic, mom.” He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, but his face breaks into a smile. 

It’s like I’m witnessing a miracle. Knowing for a fact that Armie never had a conversation like this with his mother, and now seeing him opening up to her, and her accepting and wanting to support her son, makes me think that love  _ is love is love.  _

  
After Dru is gone we’re resting on a couch - I’m reading a script with Armie in my lap, half-asleep. 

“Brian never called back,” he mumbles into my-his t-shirt.

“I’m sure he will once they’ve got everything worked out.” 

“I really want to do this, Timmy. I know, I seem like a total buzzkill, but I really want them to give us the green light on this.” 

“Thank you for telling me. ‘Cause I feel like I’ve been pushing you for the past 24 hours towards something you’re not ready for.”

“I may never be ready. I mean, my personal life has been quite exposed, and, frankly, Elizabeth never asked if I was okay with it. I’d like to make it more private this time, if you don’t mind?” 

He looks up at me with his pleading eyes, so tender and vulnerable.

“No, of course not. You’ve seen my social media - I’m too lazy to post anything decent. Plus, I’m not letting anyone see the part of you I get to see. You’re all mine now.”

“Greedy.” He chuckles.

“Can you imagine that we could actually live together from now on? Have date nights. Accompany each other to the events.”

“We need to find a bigger apartment then. Yours makes me feel claustrophobic.”

“Aren’t we settling down in LA?”

“Can’t we have both?”

I’m so happy I don’t have to choose right now. I’m not ready to leave my hometown yet.

“They’re gonna cancel the sequel…”  The thought has been bugging me for a long time.

“Yeah…”

“Luca will be so disappointed.”

“You know he won’t.” Armie stretches out on the couch like a giant cat. “Just tell him he’ll get to be our first-born’s godfather and he’ll forget everything else.”

_ First-born. As in, we’re going to have children together, more than one.  _ I feel like at the age of 23, I shouldn’t be so excited about this. But I am.

He sits up in one swift move.

“I’m sorry. Have I said too much?”

“No.” I stroke his cheek and place a gentle kiss on his lips. “I love how you’re contemplating the idea of extending our family so soon. But can we have a dog first?”

“Oh, you want a dog now?” 

“I always did. But I’m too lazy and irresponsible to take care of it. Someone has to teach me, I guess.”

“Something tells me it would be easier for me to take care of it myself.” He shakes his head, a shit-eating grin of his face.

“Hey!” I punch him on the shoulder. “I’m not that hopeless.”

“I’m kidding.” He raises his hands in surrender. “You’re perfect, Timmy, and I want to give you anything you want.”

_ You’re all I want, I think.  _

“I’ve got a long list.” I say out loud. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I need to know you're with me till the very end.


	20. Oh, will wonders ever cease?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth being an angel and a little sneak peek of boy's Valentine's Day celebration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The remaining chapters are mostly fluffy fluff. Sorry not sorry. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> The title is from 'Mystery of love'.

Los Angeles. January, 2019.

 

***** Timothée*****

  
I don’t know if it’s how it was planned all along. I don’t know if there was a plan in the first place. It just happens. One might say it doesn’t even mean anything, but for me it feels like a watershed moment. 

We’re celebrating Ford’s birthday. The Hammers’ house is jam-packed with people. Friends and family, there are so many guests that they had to move the party into the backyard, although it’s quite chilly outside.

It happens later in the evening, right after the cake. Those who have children are leaving because it’s nearly bedtime, others chill out on the terrace. I’m half-lying in a garden chair, scrolling through my Instagram notifications to the sound of Harper trying to convince Armie to let her stay up for a bit longer. Just when Armie is, as I’m sure, about to give in, I see it. 

**_elizabethchambers_ ** _ took a photo of you.  _

It’s a picture of me with Ford in my lap, the little boy holding a phone, clutching it for dear life. The capture says ‘ _ We might have made a mistake showing Ford Tim’s ‘Statistics’ video. Guess how many times we’ve played it by now? #waaaytoomany #canwepleasestop’ _

Again, it may look like just another post among dozens of others. Except, it’s the only one for today. No pictures of Harper, or their traditional family portrait. No selfies with numerous guests. Just me. With their son. On their son’s birthday. 

With shaking fingers I open the comment section and there it is. A friendly banter between Elizabeth, Nick and... Armie. 

**_nikiwonder_ ** _ So the minute Uncle Nick is gone, the kids are all over that Big Apple punk. I see… _

**_elizabethchambers_ ** _ Don’t be like that! They still love you!❤︎❤︎❤︎ _

**_armiehammer_ ** _ you’re just jealous of how cool he is  _ **@** **_nikiwonder_ ** _.  _

**_nikiwonder_ ** _ So now i’m suddenly not cool enough  _ **@** **_armiehammer_ ** _? Thanks, man. _

**_armiehammer_ ** **@** **_nikiwonder_ ** _ well, today I found out I’m not cool enough for my kids, either. Apparently, Timmy beats all of us... _

**_elizabethchambers_ ** **@** **_nikiwonder_ ** _ don’t listen to  _ **@** **_armiehammer_ ** _ , he’s been singing ‘Statistics’ for two hours non-stop himself. I have a feeling that after today Tim regrets having made the video in the first place. _

**_nikiwonder_ ** **@** **_elizabethchambers_ ** _ good thing you didn’t show Harper the one where Tim’s dancing in those loose sweatpants... _

**_armiehammer_ ** **@** **_nikiwonder_ ** _ well, now that you’ve mentioned it… _

**_nikiwonder_ ** **@** **_armiehammer_ ** **@** **_elizabethchambers_ ** _ if Timothee asks, it was NOT my idea _

**_elizabethchambers_ ** **@** **_nikiwonder_ ** _ you’re missing all the fun _

**_nikiwonder_ ** **@** **_elizabethchambers_ ** _ why? What is going on there? _

**_elizabethchambers_ ** **@** **_nikiwonder_ ** _ Harper just asked Timmy if he’s got a girlfriend _ .  _ again _ 😂😂😂 

**_nikiwonder_ ** **@** **_elizabethchambers_ ** _ poor girl’s going to be sooo disappointed _ 😂

“No, Hops, I do  _ not  _ have a girlfriend.” Corner of my eye, I can see Elizabeth, still on her phone, barely hanging on the verge of hysterical laughter. It’s the third time Harper has asked me the question over the past 24 hours and I start feeling she suspects something. 

“Do you have a boyfriend, then?” I nearly choke. Liz is making high-pitched sounds I never thought a human was able to produce.

“Honey, it’s not polite to pry into people’s personal life.” Armie comes to rescue. “Besides, it’s time for you to go to bed.”

“But you promiiiised!”

The little girl furrows her brows and pouts, but one look at her dad - and she knows there’s no point arguing.

“Say ‘good night’ to everybody.” 

“Good night.” She sighs, defeated. 

“I’ll come up in a couple of minutes, sweetie.” Elizabeth looks up from her phone.

 

“Thank you.” I land in a chair next to her once Armie’s out of sight. “I don’t know why you’re doing it for me, for us. But… thank you.”

She simply shrugs.

“He’s so happy. It’s not like he’s never been that happy before but it took me,  _ and  _ Hops,  _ and  _ Ford,  _ and  _ a whole bunch of other things to make him smile the way he smiles when he’s around you. And I don’t know how you do it, but I want you to keep doing it because he deserves to be  _ that  _ happy.”

“You deserve it, too.”

“I know. I guess I just have to find someone who can make it happen.”

We’re quiet for a while. I’m not sure what to say. I seem to never know what to say to her now. 

“He told me he’s looking for an apartment in the city.” Elizabeth puts down her phone and channels all her attention to me. “As in,  _ you’re _ looking for an apartment.”

“Yeah…” I nod somewhat apologetically. “Yes, we are.” 

“So, you’re moving to LA?” It’s more of a statement than a question. 

“Sort of… We decided I should keep my place in New York, too.” 

“Wise choice…”

“Elizabeth, I’m so sorry…”

“Stop right there.” She gives me a pointed look. “I told you a dozen times, you don’t need to apologize. I don’t want you to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I fell in love with your husband…”

“And who wouldn’t?” She arches a brow skeptically. “Just take care of him, okay. And… and be good to my kids.”

With that she gets on her feet and heads toward the door. 

“Oh, and Tim,” her face splits in a mischievous smile. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, Harper knows. She saw you two making out yesterday in the kitchen.”

And with a naturally playful wink she leaves.

 

London. February, 2019.

 

*****Armie*****

 

Normally I have mixed feelings about airports, but Heathrow has a special spot in my heart for obvious reasons. This is where it all started. This is where I first kissed him as  _ him _ .

I catch a mop of unruly locks from across the hall, his head turning in all directions trying to locate me in a sea of faces, and a familiar warmth spreads all over my body. Wherever I go feels like coming home if he’s there. 

“Hey…” His face lights up when I finally reach him.

“Hey.”

We hug briefly, he takes one of my bags, and we head out. I put on sunglasses just in time to avoid multiple flashes at the exit, Tim is marching boldly in front of me, cap low on his head. It’s barely a couple of minutes, though it feels like an eternity, till we get to the car, and once inside we remove our disguise and burst into laughter. 

“You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?” I poke his side, widest smile on my face.

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” He grins back and leans into me. “Hi.”

The impishness in his eyes gives way to affection, pure and disarming. He never ceases to be a little too much. 

“Your hair grows so fast.” I push a strand away from his face.

“What happened to your hand?” He gasps, brows knit together.

“Oh, that!” I look at my right wrist wrapped in plastic as if I’ve forgotten about it. “A gift for myself for Valentine’s Day.”

“I thought we were giving gifts to each other.” Tim’s eyes wander from my hand to my face, back and forth. 

“I have a gift for you, too. This, however, is just something I wanted for myself for a while.”

“Can I see it?” He sounds hesitant, but curiosity gets the best of him, as always.

“Later.”

  
“So technically the holiday is tomorrow, but we’re gonna be busy till late this evening so I want to give it to you now.” 

I dig into my suitcase first thing after I emerge from the shower, a towel loosely wrapped around my waist, water from my wet hair dripping down my back.

“Your present is in its spot in our living room three hours ago.” Timothée says matter-of-factly.

He’s lying on the bed, leaning on his elbows, watching me with an amused look.

“Did you..?” I walk over to join him, a small elongated black box clutched in my hand. “Did you get me that coffee table I’ve been looking at for two weeks?”

“Uh-huh.” He hums, eyes locked on his gift, wide in anticipation. 

“I love you!” I kiss him on the lips but all his attention is aimed at the elegant package. “I hope you like it.”

I hand the box into his trembling fingers. Is he nervous? Why would he be?

“Do you want me to open it?” I inquire carefully.

“Yes.” 

It’s a necklace. A simple sterling silver chain with two small round discs, our initials engraved on the inside. Tim slowly traces the length of it with the pads of his fingers as if to make sure it’s real. 

“Do you like it?” 

He lifts his head and simply nods, eyes glassy with tears of gratitude. 

“Do you want me to put it on or..?”

“Please.”

It might not be a ring, but it still feels monumental to put something of mine on him, something with my name on it, with our names. Something that he’ll always have as a reminder of us. 

Once the clasp clicks our fingers meet against the smoothness of metallic tags, the gentleness of the touch overwhelms me like pretty much everything about him does. Will I ever get used to the thought that he’s mine? Will my heart ever stop aching sweetly in his presence? I hope not. 

“Thank you.” He strokes my hand just below the bandage. “Are you going to take it off?”

“Yeah. It’s brand new. Need to clean it and apply some cream before going to bed.”

“Can I?”

“Sure.”

Tim unwraps it like children unwrap their Christmas presents. The tattoo itself is quite small and simple but it takes him a while to let it sink in. There, on my right wrist, in old typewriter font, sit the words that might seem silly and maudlin to someone but for the two of us… 

Love

is

love

is

love

  
He kisses the ball of my hand, careful not to hurt me (as if his kiss could hurt). 

“Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more…” He breathes against my skin. 

“Are you gonna take care of me now?”

“Now and forever.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more left... *sighs wistfully*


	21. forever ain’t half the time I wanna spend with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not the end, it's actually the beginning😉.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gives me toothache but I wouldn't change it for the world. 
> 
>  
> 
> The title is from Troye Sivan's 'What A Heavenly Way To Die'.

LA. November, 2019.

 

The Ellen Show

 

*****Timothée*****

 

“It’s so good to have you back!” Ellen gives me a brief hug and settles in her chair. “You should come here more.”

“I’m tempted to say I’d love to but everytime I do you show those embarrassing videos of me and… um…”

“So are you saying there’s more?” Her eyebrows fly up in a fake wonder.

“Oh, don’t act like you haven’t found something humiliating again. I’m not buying it.”

Her smile is bright enough to light up the entire set.

“I knew I was walking into a trap.” I shake my head and she giggles adorably.

“But before we get to it… I noticed you’ve brought someone special with you tonight...”

I freeze. Armie did come with me and is now sitting in the green room but I didn’t expect her to bring this up. We don’t hide we are together but we never officially confirmed it either.

‘...And I just couldn’t help myself but take a picture with him. I hope you don’t mind.” She points to the screen.

It’s a fraction of a second before the photo shows up but I feel my face go flush, then pale, then chalk white… and then audience goes ‘aaaaaw’ and I see a shot of my dog licking Ellen’s face. A sigh of relief leaves my lungs and I don’t bother to cover it up.

“He’s adorable.” Ellen coos with a furtive glance in my direction.

“He is. His name is Nero, he’s a rescue and, probably, the world’s neediest dog. Which makes perfect sense since _I_ picked him.”

“So, is he a good boy? Like, is he obedient or?”

“Hell, no.” I hoot with laughter. “He is anything but obedient. He is stubborn and spoilt and treats me like nothing but a personal feeder and a pillow. He takes all of my space on the bed and when we go for a walk I have to basically drag him on the way back home.”

“That’s what my Augie is like!” Ellen claps her hands excitedly. “He’s a Jack Russell, so he’s tiny, and you’d think there would be no problem with him. And we already have two dogs so I know how to handle them. But this one… he’s just IMPOSSIBLE. Only with me, though. Portia’s got him on a string.”

“Exactly! Nero is an exemplary dog when he’s around Armie. Which is so unfa…” I bite my tongue in the middle of a sentence, feeling the blood rushing up to my face.

The audience goes dead quiet. I can literally feel _him_ holding his breath backstage.

“Really? It’s very nice of Armie to look after _your_ dog.” Ellen can barely suppress a smile.

“Yeah…” I scratch the back of my neck, a gesture I stole from Elio years ago. “He’s amazing like that.”

She looks at me with her big blue eyes as I shake my head at myself, figuring where to take the conversation next. The audience wakes up from a temporary trance and I hear a couple of encouraging whistles. Ellen’s face finally breaks into a grin and I can’t help but join her with a shrug.

“So, you live in LA now?” She crosses her legs, her card totally abandoned.

“Yep.” I mentally remind myself to thank her later for not delving our relationship.

“Do you like it?”

“Sure, yeah. I mean, what’s not to like?”

“Well, it must be quite different to your hometown, you are a New Yorker, after all.”

“Born and bred. But I’m here now and this is where I need to be. This is where I want to be. And it’s not so bad, actually.”

“I’m glad you like it here.” She chuckles.

“Except… What is wrong with your weather? I mean, I’m wearing a t-shirt and a jacket in November. Does LA know what fall is?”

“So you’re missing the seasons?”

“Of course I’m missing the seasons. They exist for a reason!”

“Not in Southern California, they don’t.”

“And what do you do on Christmas day? Go to the beach to sunbathe?”

Ellen laughs heartily.

“I feel like now’s the time to show that clip of yours.” She reaches for her cup with the most innocent smile.

“Oh God.”

“No, no, relax. We’re not there yet. So, you’re spending Christmas here?”

“Uh-huh.” I take a sip from my mug.

“And what about your birthday?”

“I’m celebrating it here as well and it’s something completely new to me. Cause in New York I’d normally go to a bar with my friends or something. But this year I was promised a party in SoCal style. Like, with dozens of guests. Even my parents are coming.”

“Oh, wow. That’s exciting. Are you excited?”

“More like terrified. But there’s an entire committee so it’s not like I’d have to do anything.”

“You’ve got a _committee_ to arrange a birthday party for you?”

“Cool, isn’t it? Although, I told them if they don't get me a piñata, they are all fired.”

Ellen huffs with an arched brow.

“LA is spoiling you. No wonder you like it here.”

“Oh, I _love_ it!”

 

“So about that video…”

I do the most dramatic eye-roll.

“The first time you were here we showed a funny clip, the second was cute. I figured for the third time we should come up with something sexy.”

The audience claps and cheers enthusiastically and I sink back in armchair, covering my face.

“Whoever showed it to you, I’m gonna find them and I’m gonna kick their ass.” I rake my fingers through my curls, my face twisting in sheer horror.

“Then I apologize to this person in advance.” Ellen lifts her hands in praise. “But he knew what he was doing.”

  
  
*****Armie*****

 

“I can’t believe you gave Ellen _that_ video!”

Tim bursts into the green room with a wild light in his eyes. Nero leaps up to lick him anywhere he can reach.

“And I can’t believe you did a ‘ _classic Armie Hammer’_ putting your foot in your mouth.”

“I… I don’t know how it happened. One minute I was talking about our dog and the next… And she didn’t even ask me any trick question.”

“Like I said, classic Armie Hammer.”

“Are you proud?”

We stare at each other for a minute until a warm smile blooms on his face.

“You did great, baby.”

He approaches and kisses me sweetly, making my head swim in an instant. The puppy is restless at our feet.

“It was easier somehow, having you here with me. I felt safe. Even when I knew I fucked up.”

“You didn’t fuck up. Everyone knows we’re together.”

“You can never know something until it’s confirmed.” He leans his forehead against mine, standing on his tiptoes.

“And I couldn’t do it more graciously.”

  
“So, a dinner?”

We walk out into an abnormally warm night, even by LA standards.

“Yeah, let’s go someplace nice...” Timmy takes my hand and links our fingers together, something we never do in public, but now it feels right, natural. “...somewhere dog friendly.”

“Oh, I know a perfect place. Very dog friendly. They even allow you eat in your bed, half naked.” I wink at him but he doesn’t seem impressed.

“That’s your idea of a romantic dinner? What happened to taking me on dates? Especially now that we’re officially ‘out’? I guess the honeymoon is over?”

He’s shitting me, I can tell, but he’s pouting so beautifully that I just can’t not play along.

“Oh, baby, the honeymoon hasn’t even started. You’d have to marry me first.”

“Is that so?” He lets go of my hand and turns to face me, walking backwards. “You’d have to propose to me first, _baby_.”

“Have I not proposed to you yet?” I blink innocently, fighting a smile playing on my lips.

He shakes his head vigorously, sassiest smirk twitching the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, well. That’s coming.”

He gives a dismissive snort.

“Hey, I’m serious. It’s happening. And when it happens, it’s gonna kick. your. ass, Chalamet.”

It earns me a frown and then he bursts into laughter.

“Ooookay, Jim.”

We exchange perceptive glances, he turns away heading towards my car. I literally count seconds till the apprehension hits him. He slows his pace in 5. Stops entirely in 5 more.

“Wait.” He spins on his heels. “He wasn’t joking when he said it.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

Timothée takes a step forward. Everything else ceases to exist, there’s only him and me in this moment.

“Are you saying…?” He swallows a lump in his throat, his eyes hazed, nervous. “Are you saying you have a ring?”

I remain silent, unable to produce any comprehensible sound.

“Holy shit, you do!”

He drops the leash. Thankfully, Nero seems to not notice, he’s too busy studying his own tail.

The look in Tim’s eyes makes all the hours spent overthinking (‘ _Is it too much too soon?’ ‘I’m just being selfish.’ ‘He’s too young for this.’ ‘I don’t even have the balls to do it.’)_ turn into dust.

“I thought you’d expect me to propose.” He breathes against my cheek, lips ghosting over my skin so so gently.

“You still can, if that’s what you want.” My voice sounds unfamiliar, soft, barely audible.

“And ruin your plan? No way.”

“There is no plan.”

“But there’s a ring.” I can feel him smiling into my neck, making my stomach flip.

“Who says there can’t be two rings?”

The idea of _him_ proposing to _me_ makes my head spin.

“Okay.”

He looks me right in the eye and I know. _It’s decided. It’s happening._

“Okay.”

“Do you want to do this now… or?”

I take him by the hand, tracing his ring finger. Everything in my life somehow led to this moment.

_“If not now, when?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's a wrap! 
> 
> First, some notes for the chapter. 
> 
> The clip Ellen shows is a video (that, sadly, doesn't exist) of Timmy on stage in some bar dancing and lip syncing to Madonna's 'Like a virgin'.
> 
> The whole 'Have I not proposed to you yet?' thing is, obviously, a reference to 'The Office' which, as we all know, Tim adooores (and so do I). 
> 
> If you haven't seen it, or would like to refresh your memory, here it is https://youtu.be/LLlhERiAUMI.
> 
> And now...
> 
> I want to thank all of you for taking the time to read and leave comments/kudos. This fandom is something completely phenomenal as I've never seen so many sweet, smart, kind and incredibly talented people gathered in one place. And it feels so safe here, in our cozy little world, that I simply can't bring myself to leave. So I'm not saying 'good bye' just yet, I'm saying 'see you later'. 
> 
> Peace and love. ✌


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